Women of War
by buxy
Summary: The USA entered World War 2 and thousands of men enlisted in the Armed Forces. Half a year later, the Army searched for female volunteers for a special program. And where better to put them than in another brand-new unit? Follow a group of extraordinary women who refuse to let anybody stop them from fighting for their country alongside the men. *Cross-posted on wattpad*
1. Chapter 1 - Preface

Hello dear reader and welcome to my Band of Brothers Story "Women of War",

I won't waste much of your time with unnecessary information, but there are a few things that I need and want to say before you read on. The first 3 points are general disclaimers, you can skip those if you like, but points 4 - 10 are very important to me, so please take a moment to read to the end.

Here we go.

 **1.** This is a fanfiction of the HBO mini-series "Band of Brothers" by executive producers Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks. The descriptions and actions in this story are based purely on the actors' portrayal of the characters in the series, **not** on the actual, real-life men.

 **2.** I have nothing but respect for the real-life members of Easy Company and do not wish to offend anyone with my writing.

 **3.** I do not own anything from Band of Brothers and I do not make any profit with this piece of writing.

 **4.** The political beliefs and opinions that some characters have in the story do not reflect my own. While there will be moments where certain beliefs and opinions are challenged and/or rejected, I do not claim moral superiority and have no intention of persuading you of any specific belief or opinion.

 **5.** If you know Band of Brothers, you know what to expect in terms of violence, death etc. This story is set during World War II, that speaks for itself. I try to keep it not too graphic and will include warnings at the beginning of the chapters, but among other things, there will be:

\- swearing (mostly canon-typical)

\- mentions of sexism and racism

\- character deaths

\- violence (canon-typical)

 **6.** This story contains several Original Characters (OCs), more than a dozen and about 90 percent of them are female. I realise that it might be a bit difficult to keep track of who's who in the beginning. I tried to keep it as clear as possible, but if there is confusion in that regard, please feel free to bring it to my attention and I'll do my best to fix it.

 **7.** While the vast majority of OCs are my creation, **three** of them were requested by other people on wattpad. I did take the liberty of adjusting a few details to fit my story, but overall, I didn't think up those OCs, which are:

\- Jessica Rose Helak, requested by BasiclyMadeOfTrash

\- Ana María Margareta Hernandez, requested by MissyAna6

\- Audrey Victoria Maynard, requested by BrightShadowWolf31

 **8.** Several of the characters speak one or more languages apart from English. Although I am multi-lingual myself and have at least a basic knowledge of probably around half a dozen languages, I do have to rely on the internet for certain languages the characters speak.

So if you find a mistake, be it a simple spelling mistake or a gross error in formality or style, please don't hesitate to leave me a comment or message and correct me. I'm always grateful for help.

 **9.** I am always happy about feedback, so long as it's constructive. Here's how it works:

\- If you tell me that I am a terrible writer and I should delete my account and jump from the nearest cliff without providing specific and detailed reasons, you'll just be ignored.

\- If you like the story, great! Let me know what you like the most about it, who your favourite characters are, what you'd like to see etc.

\- If you don't like the story, that's fine, but please tell me what bothered or annoyed you (without insulting or demeaning me), so I can try and improve my story.

\- If you like the story but have some ideas about what I could/should improve, let me know, too. Leave me a comment or shoot me a message and I'll be happy to discuss your feedback and take into account.

 **10.** I will try to update on a regular schedule, but I can't make any promises. Real life always takes precedence and even then, my muse can sometimes be a bit fickle. So if I don't update on time, please be patient, I'll update as soon as I can.

That is all I have to say for now. Thank you very much for your attention and patience, dear reader, I hope I didn't bore you to tears. If I did, I apologise.

I really hope that you enjoy reading this story as much as I did writing it.

Sincerely,

buxy04


	2. Chapter 2 - The Women of Easy Company

Just a quick overview of the women of Easy Company. In brackets, I indicated their "celebrity look-alikes". If you go to and search for _Women of War - A Band of Brothers Story_ , you will also find the pictures that I used as reference. Unfortunately, doesn't display any pictures inside the stories...

 **Arricante, Mia Alessia  
** serial number 11427543  
born 12 May 1924  
from Barton, Vermont  
hair: dark blond  
eyes: blue  
(Miriam Stein)

 **Fields, Louise Andrea**  
serial number 16344092  
born 01 August 1922  
from Green Bay, Wisconsin  
hair: blond  
eyes: blue-grey  
(Sienna Miller)

 **Griffith, Helen Veronica**  
serial number 18436048  
born 15 December 1923  
from Flagstaff, Arizona  
hair: auburn  
eyes: light blue  
(Malin Akerman)

 **Helak, Jessica Rose**  
serial number 13654816  
born 23 June 1923 **  
**from Elkton, Maryland  
hair: blond  
eyes: grey-blue  
(Louane Emera)

 **Hernandez, Ana María Margareta**  
serial number 14455378  
born 29 February 1921  
from Fort Pierce, Florida  
hair: dark brown  
eyes: dark brown  
(Gina Rodriguez)

 **Lloyd, Maxine Berenice**  
serial number 13947669  
born 03 January 1922  
from Washington D.C.  
hair: brown  
eyes: hazel  
(Lily Collins)

 **McKinsey, Irene Elisabeth**  
serial number 19148406  
born 07 July 1919  
from Rock Springs, Wyoming  
hair: dark brown  
eyes: brown  
(Gemma Arterton)

 **Nolan, Theresa Christine**  
serial number 17317236  
born 31 March 1924  
from Scottsbluff, Nebraska  
hair: brown  
eyes: dark brown  
(Carey Mulligan)

 **Preston, Kathleen Cecilia**  
serial number 12818065  
born 24 February 1920  
from New York City, New York  
hair: brown  
eyes: hazel  
(Anne Hathaway)

 **Shea, Frances Yvonne**  
serial number 14925448  
born 18 April 1923  
from Asheville, North Carolina  
hair: ash brown  
eyes: brown  
(Hailee Steinfeld)

 **Vaughn, Elizabeth Grace**  
serial number 19777286  
born 16 October 1922  
from Reno, Nevada  
hair: dark red  
eyes: dark brown  
(Allison Scagliotti)

 **Wilson, Catherine Marie**  
serial number 11538240  
born 09 November 1918 **  
**from Honolulu, Hawaii  
hair: light brown  
eyes: brown  
(Anna Belknap)


	3. Chapter 3 - Prologue

December 7, 1941. An infamous date in the history of the United States of America. The day the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, leaving nearly 2,500 dead and almost 1,200 wounded. The day that caused the US to enter World War II.

 **.**

3 months later, rumours began to spread. Rumours about the Army wanting to do a test-run of women in the field. And not as part of the WAC, no sir. Everybody heard it from somebody who knew it for sure and everyone had an opinion about it.

"War ain't no place for broads", many would declare while their audience nodded their heads.

Others called it an outrageous idea. "Who's gonna take care of home when they are all rushing to go and fight?", they would clamour.

A few would shrug. "Let them", they would answer when asked. "They won't get far if they're not up to it."

And some would raise their heads, chin jutting out in defiance, and say: "Good. We can do this and we'll prove it."

 **.**

In spring of the year 1942, the rumours were confirmed when it was announced that the US Army was looking for female volunteers for a "special, unprecedented program." They would undergo a 4-week training and evaluation period before the best candidates would begin basic training, though in which Army branch that would be was anybody's guess.

* * *

"The Airborne?!"

The shocked gasp clearly carried over the other mutters and murmurs. The officer who had been tasked with informing the 35 selected women nodded. "Indeed", he said. "You will be joining the 506th Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division at Camp Toccoa, Georgia. Transports leave tomorrow at 0900. Dismissed."

Linda Irwin shook her head, neatly styled hair bouncing. "I am not going into the Airborne", she declared. "I did not sign up for this."

"Then what did you sign up for?", Frances Shea wondered.

Linda shrugged and waved her hand in a vague gesture. "Not the Airborne."

"What, scared of flying?", Irene McKinsey laughed. She received an indignant, semi-incredulous look in return.

"No", Linda retorted. "Just not keen on jumping out of a _moving_ airplane."

They turned the corner and entered the mess hall.

 **.**

"What are you going to do?", Doreen Edwards wanted to know as she picked up a tray.

The 22-year-old Idaho native sighed. "I don't know. But I'm not going into the Airborne."

Theresa Nolan joined them in the line, wrinkling her nose at the less than pleasant-looking meal on her plate. She asked: "Why don't you at least try it?"

Linda's eyebrows scrunched into a reluctant grimace.

Over dinner, the conversation kept going in circles as Linda received several more suggestions as to what she could or should do.

"My God, it's not that difficult", Kathleen Preston groaned eventually, drawing everyone's attention. "If you don't think you can do it, then go tell them. Problem solved."

Everybody stared at her in silence.

Eventually, Louise Fields said wrily: "Bravo, Kathleen. So tactful", making the woman in question flush and mumble an apology.

 **.**

In the end, Linda did take Kathleen's advice. And thus, only 34 women boarded the train that would bring them to their new home in Georgia.

* * *

They were greeted by Colonel Robert Sink, commander of the 506th Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division. He was a tall and stern-looking man, whose mere presence immediately commanded respect.

"Ladies", he said, studying them as they stood before him in rank and file, "you represent the strength and bravery of the women in this fine country. I am damn proud that my regiment is part of this experiment and I have no doubt that you will do your families and your country proud."

He raised a finger to caution them. "But", he stressed, "the Airborne is a brand-new concept in the US Army and absolutely elite. There will be no allowances made for you in training. You want to be paratroopers, so you will have to work just as hard or even harder the men. You will expect no special treatment. Understood?"

"Yes sir", they chorused.

The colonel nodded, gracing them with a smile. "However, there are a few regulations in place to avoid potential problems between you and the men. For now, you have a separate billet, which is off limits to all male personnel. At a later stage, you will most likely be sharing the billets with the men, but we will cross that bridge when we get to it."

This earned him a few quiet chuckles and he continued: "Showers. There are no separated showers, so you will have to shower after the men. You will not take a shower on your own, this is non-negotiable. You will shower in twos, at least, the more the better. If, for some reason, you have to shower alone, you will have one or two men you trust standing guard in front of the door."

Col. Sink scanned the faces of the women, not missing the occasional frown of confusion or discontent. "This is for your own safety", he explained frankly. "While I expect the men to be disciplined and civilised, there is no guarantee. And I'll be damned if you have to fear attack and injury from your own comrades."

After reassuring himself that they understood, he nodded once more and dismissed them.


	4. Chapter 4 - Beginnings

**A/N: Big thank-you to all of you who read this story, faved and/or followed it. I'm glad you like it.  
Special thanks to Byron W.4 for pointing out a mistake I made with the serial numbers. I appreciate your help.  
**

* * *

Less than a week later, they were down to 30. Basic training was far more rigorous and taxing than their previous training. The women did their best to ignore the whispers and mutters, but some of the men purposely spoke loud enough for them to hear it.

"The Army's no place for broads." "Should'a stayed home and married."

Some women were quick to silence the critics, whether through words or deeds. Though they couldn't do anything about it when it was their superior officers that voiced their doubts and displeasure. And nobody was more open about his disgust than Lieutenant Herbert M. Sobel, the CO of Easy Company.

He managed to get every single person in the company to hate - or at least strongly dislike – him already on the first day and reinforced those sentiments a hundred times over every day that followed. During each inspection, while having them stand at attention for what seemed like hours, he revoked weekend passes left and right, finding faults and citing the most ludicrous infractions.

And then he made them run Currahee.

 **.**

"Jesus bloody Christ", Louise cursed, kicking her boots off and yanking her OD shirt over her head simultaneously. "I hate that prick!"

Catherine Wilson, fittingly nicknamed "Mom" by the rest of the women, slid into her PT shorts and replied: "He wants his company to be the best, of course he is going to be tough."

The door to their cabin opened and Irene came in, already in her PT gear. "Running up that hill won't be that bad", she argued. "It's only 6 miles to the top and back, how hard can it be?" In her defence, she hadn't had to run Currahee yet since she'd been recovering from a badly sprained knee.

"With Sobel?", Ana María Hernandez asked, walking past. "It's a nightmare."

Mia Arricante, who the women had secretly dubbed "The Odd One", laced up her boots and headed towards the door, handing Frances the hair tie she had accidentally dropped. "Let's just hurry up", she suggested quietly. "Before he decides we're late and punishes us."

* * *

Irene had to admit that Ana María had been right. Sobel made running up the mountain twice as miserable. At first, while they ran in formation, he asked them a fixed set of questions, always in the same order and always expecting the same replies.

"Where do we run?", he yelled. It had become something of a running joke among the women that Sobel only had two settings: yelling and sneering.

"Currahee!", Easy Company responded as one.

"What's Currahee mean?"

Elizabeth Vaughn shared a look with Theresa while everyone answered: "We stand alone!"

 **.**

"How far up, how far down?", Sobel continued his questioning.

"Three miles up, three miles down!"

Jessica Helak muttered under her breath: "Imagine that, it's the same length down as it is up." Beside her, Floyd Talbert snorted a breathless laugh.

"Now, what company is this?"

"Easy Company!"

"And what do we do?"

"Stand alone!"

"We're neither alone nor standing", Helen Griffith whispered to Irene, making them both suppress snickers.

 **.**

Up ahead, Catherine nearly bumped into Mia when in front of her, Warren "Skip" Muck suddenly stumbled because of a cramp in his leg. They, as well as the men around Muck, reached out to steady him when he cried out in pain.

"Do not help that man! Do not help that man!", Sobel bellowed, giving Malarkey a push. "You do not stop!"

The two women, both of them medics, complied, though with great reluctance. Catherine glared at the CO's back. Mia only shook her head, having already accepted the fact that Sobel hated them all, some more than others.

He shouted: "You have 13 minutes to get to the top of that mountain if you want to serve in the paratroopers!" Speeding up, he cried: "Hi-yo, Silver!", a phrase they had all come to loathe with a passion.

 **.**

Irene was leading the field. She heard Lieutenant Winters spurring them on, encouraging them. "Come on, you can make it!", he was telling them over and over again.

When she had overtaken him, he had called: "That's it, McKinsey, keep it up!"

The top of the mountain came in sight. And with it, a decidedly bored-looking Lieutenant Sobel, who was watching dispassionately as the company fought their way up the steep slope.

When Irene came running up to the top stone, chest heaving with each panting breath, sweat pouring down her face, he didn't say anything. He only scowled at the stopwatch in his hand and glowering after the woman's retreating form for a moment before going back to yelling at the rest of the company.

* * *

"I'm gonna be sore all over", Kathleen moaned, rolling her shoulders as she stood under the stream of the shower.

Jessica winced when she reached for the towel. "Yeah", she agreed. "Me too. I can feel it already."

Towelling off and slipping into her uniform, Irene said: "I take back what I said earlier. Running Currahee is a nightmare."

 **.**

On their way to the mess hall, Frances had a similar conversation with Maxine Lloyd, a hand pressed to her side.

"Every time", she grumbled, taking deep breaths to help with the pain. "Every damn time we run up that stupid hill, I get stitches in the side."

Maxine gave her a smile of commiseration and suggested: "Maybe you haven't found the right rhythm for breathing and running yet."

Frances just shrugged, massaging her side.

 **.**

The mess hall wasn't too full yet and out of the women, they were among the first since the rest were still in the showers.

"Let's sit over there", Frances said, gesturing towards a table in the back.

A flicker of something crossed Maxine's face, but she nodded. "Alright."

They sat down next to Catherine, who was talking quietly with Don Malarkey, Skip Muck and Alex Penkala.

"What's wrong?", the 24-year-old asked when she noticed the pinched expression on Frances' face.

"Nothing, Mom", she replied, using the nickname they had given Catherine early on. "Just a stitch in the side."

The female medic nodded and offered: "It'll pass soon. Just breathe deeply and slowly."

 **.**

Skip grimaced and rubbed his leg for the tenth time since sitting down. "I hope this passes soon, too", he said. "It hurts." The cramp still hadn't let up completely, causing him to be in pain even when he didn't put any weight on his leg.

Catherine turned to him with a sympathetic smile. "Mia went to fetch you something for that", she told him. She paused and looked to the door. "There she is."

Indeed, the young woman was walking down the aisles to their table, a tray in her hands. She manoeuvred through the people and set her tray down next to Frances before heading over to Skip.

"Here", she said, dropping an innocuous white tablet into his hand. "Put it in some water and drink it. The cramp should go away in about twenty to thirty minutes."

"What is it?", Chuck Grant wanted to know from where he had slumped onto the bench across from Penkala, curiously eyeing the tablet in his comrade's palm.

"Magnesium", Mia replied, taking her seat. "It's good for cramps and sore muscles."

 **.**

Skip dropped the tablet into his cup of water, watching in fascination when it hissed and fizzed. When it had dissolved, leaving the water a cloudy white colour, he picked up the cup, studying it with a dubious expression.

"It doesn't taste too good", Mia spoke up apologetically, "but I promise it's going to help."

After another moment of hesitation, Skip downed the concoction in one go, shuddering exaggeratedly as he swallowed.

Half an hour later, the muscles in his leg relaxed and the pain disappeared.

* * *

Mia Arricante knew well enough that some of the other women had labelled her as odd behind her back. It didn't bother her too much. It was a lot nicer than some other words she had been called, in the past and during basic. And they were nice to her, even if they sometimes laughed at her.

She was getting along fine with the men, too, though she wouldn't go as far as calling them all her friends. They were civil and nice, but that was it. Not that she could fault them for it. The medics sometimes trained separately to the company and they had many different lectures, too.

Maybe it was better this way, the rational, more cynical side of her brain would point out. Medics shouldn't get too attached because they would be the ones treating their wounded and dying comrades.

She wasn't completely isolated either. She liked talking with Eugene Roe and occasionally exchanging a few pleasantries and making idle small talk with Shifty Powers, Chuck Grant and Pat Christenson. Out of the women, she often found herself in the company of Louise, Catherine or Frances.

 **.**

It was on one of the 12-mile marches Sobel insisted on sending them on every Friday night that she gained a new friend.

"Say, Arricante, where are you from?"

Mia turned her head to see George Luz, their resident jokester, looking at her, the genuine smile on his lips mirrored in the twinkle of his dark eyes.

"Vermont", she answered. "And you?"

His smile widened, like he was pleased with her response. "Providence, Rhode Island."

They continued marching through the dark for a few moments before George spoke up again.

 **.**

"Soo... got somebody special back home?", he asked, a hint of slyness entering his tone.

She glanced at him, eyebrows creasing briefly before her features smoothed out again. "No", she replied after a beat.

"Why not?", he wondered. "You're a pretty girl."

Mia refrained from heaving a sigh. "Because I had enough to think about already."

Her attention was momentarily diverted when Kathleen, who was walking in front of her, tripped over a rock and nearly fell face first into the dirt. She heard Ana María mutter something in Spanish as the Puerto Rican steadied the New Yorker.

* * *

George wasn't an idiot and he wasn't mean-spirited either. Seeing that he wouldn't get anywhere with this approach, he decided to switch to a less tricky subject.

"I'm from a big family", he said, hoping that she would volunteer more information about herself if he did it first. "Was never quiet in our house with a bunch of kids running around."

He already counted it as a success when the female medic smiled and asked back: "Oh yeah? How many siblings do you have?"

"Nine. Six brothers and three sisters." He paused and studied her for a moment. "You got siblings, too", he then determined. "Hm, let me guess...Oldest of...six. Am I right?"

 **.**

The young woman stayed quiet for a moment, long enough that Luz was starting to think that another attempt at friendly, casual conversation had failed. So he was caught slightly off guard when she quietly said: "Not quite."

He blinked, brain scrambling to connect the dots, and asked eloquently: "Huh?"

Another smile travelled across her face. "Before", she elaborated. "You guessed that I'm the oldest of six. Not quite."

"Ah." George flashed her a grin as he recovered. "But I was close, right?"

He could have sworn that he heard the faint whisper of a laugh coming from her. She was smiling when she looked over to him and answered: "Second youngest of five."

"Really?" He paused. "Huh...didn't expect that."

Mia liked Luz. He was easy one of the friendliest guys in the company. You could always count on him to lighten the mood and make people laugh, especially when he used his gift for imitating voices. He was a good guy and therefore, she decided to accept the offer of...maybe not friendship, but at least simple companionship.

"Yeah", she said, not missing the way his expression seemed to light up when she spoke, "Three brothers and one sister."

They fell silent once again because they were back at camp now and didn't want to get yelled at by Sobel for talking, but this time, the silence felt easier. Lighter.

* * *

The company followed Lieutenant Winters to the parade ground and stood in file as Sobel prowled up and down trying to find something amiss to shout at them for. For a change, he didn't seem to be able to conjure up any infractions on the spot, which made his scowl deepen.

He dismissed them and stumped off. Not that anyone in Easy cared. They were all just looking forward to their bunks.

 **.**

The next morning, Luz smiled at Mia when he joined the line at breakfast and he invited her to sit with him. He managed to hide the twinge of guilt he felt when her eyes widened in genuine surprise.

After he'd convinced her that yes, he was serious about her having breakfast with him and the guys, he made a mental note to find out what kept everyone from getting to know the young medic. Because in his modest opinion, that girl was really not bad company.


	5. Chapter 5 - Bonding

**A/N: Hello everyone. Thanks for reading, reviewing and adding this story to your favourites. I'm really happy that you like my writing and I hope I won't disappoint you :) Sorry for the rather short chapter, but it was the only reasonable point to stop...**

* * *

There was one silver lining to Sobel's harsh, borderline cruel, sometimes downright sadistic training methods. It gave the men and women common ground and the two groups, initially separate, began to merge. They commiserated, offered each other tips and started warming up to the idea of being in combat together.

It was also in some way thanks to Sobel that they realised that this whole "women don't belong here"-nonsense was ridiculous. He had been in a particularly bad mood that day and had let them feel it. Several members of Easy ended up running Currahee in full pack as punishment for reasons none of them were entirely too sure of.

 **.**

"What a nice day for a run", Jessica mentioned to Maxine, who snorted at her friend's dry humour.

"Don't make me laugh", Elizabeth puffed. "We're not all like Irene. Or Arricante"

Unable to contain his curiosity, Don Hoobler blurted out: "Irene? Arricante?"

Maxine startled, as if she had forgotten there were 4 men running behind them. There was a long beat of silence, the women assessing the men, trying to gauge the intentions behind the curious, inquisitive expression.

Eventually, Elizabeth answered: "Irene McKinsey and Mia Arricante. Out of us women, they're the best runners."

She had to break off to maintain her breathing rhythm and Maxine took over. "Irene is an athlete, she played lots of sports in school", she explained between breaths. "She ran Currahee in under 50 minutes on her first day."

"Ah", Bill Guarnere uttered. He vividly remembered how it had pissed him off that some dame was faster than all of them and that just after being injured. It hadn't helped that Sobel had continually taunted them with the fact that a girl could outrun them.

 **.**

"And Mia?", Grant probed. From what he had seen and from the few times he'd had a chance to interact with her, the young woman was quiet, but always friendly and ready to help.

Jessica responded: "Fastest sprinter. I think she does it all through sheer stubbornness, though." Her tone had turned dry again towards the end.

"She's odd", Elizabeth offered after a few paces. They were almost at the top now.

Forrest Guth turned his head towards her, a puzzled look on his face. "What makes you say that?", he wondered.

Jessica raised an eyebrow. "Oh please. She's as chatty as a fish and blander than a piece of paper."

The conversation took off, bridging the gap that had inadvertently forced both parties into a state of self-imposed isolation. None of them thought about the subject of their conversation as the women shared gossip and rumours about one of their own, everyone – some more than others – weighing in with their own experiences.

* * *

With the ice finally fully broken, the women were invited into the men's conversations and started sitting among them. Instead of sneers and glares or blank stares, they were met with smiles and companionable greetings in the mornings. Soon enough, the men's camaraderie was extended to the women, who started to integrate themselves in the unit, which grew stronger as the resentment and prejudice began to fade.

That didn't stop Sobel from being even more harsh and cruel to the women than he was to the men. He didn't bother hiding his disdain for them and he made no secret of what he thought of them. They found themselves saddled with KP duty more often than not and always with the comment "It's a more…appropriate assignment anyways."

Luckily, Colonel Sink caught wind of that and Sobel was grudgingly forced to accept that the women would not be reduced to kitchen aides and secretaries. Not that he didn't put them down every opportunity he got, having even more unreasonable expectations towards them than towards the rest of the company.

Lieutenants Winters and Nixon, two of their platoon leaders, were the complete opposite.

Winters was calm, polite and fair. He had made a point to speak to each of the women as soon as he had met them, reassuring them that if there ever was an incident with one of the men, he would listen to the women and let them tell their side of the story.

Nixon was wry, blunt and didn't care too much about what people thought of him. He had an air of dispassion, almost arrogance, about him, but he always treated the women with respect. He had a great sense of humour and was very easy-going.

* * *

Three months in, there were only 24 women left, spread out over 3 companies.

Mary Jenkins and Doreen Edwards dropped out on their own volition, Susan Brown hadn't met Sobel's standards and was sent packing.

Martha Osborne requested a transfer to the WAC, having discovered her passion for nursing and believing that she would be of more use there.

Christine Richardson left to be with her family after her younger brother and her uncle perished in a dreadful accident.

And Sarah Jane Collins was kicked out after she had been caught fraternising with a private from Dog Company.

Even though the animosity towards the women had dissipated and the company was no longer divided along the lines of its members' sex, there were still a few bumps in the road. The women still had to prove that they were just as capable and skilled as the men.

* * *

Louise Fields was one of the best shooters in the company and she knew it. She didn't take anybody's bullshit and never hesitated to stand up for herself, even to the brashest and rowdiest of the men. That earned her quite some respect, but some were still trying to get her to fail.

Easy Company would later laugh about it when they remembered this particularly memorable incident, but right then, most of the men were both awed and terrified while the women watched in amusement and no small amount of satisfaction.

 **.**

That day, after spending almost the entire afternoon at the shooting range for her sniper aptitude evaluation, Louise came storming into the women's billet, her expression contorted with fury.

"That fucking arsehole thinks he can pull a fast one on me!", she snarled, flinging her jacket against the wall over her bunk. It landed in a heap on the floor. As always when she was angry, her British accent became more pronounced. "How stupid does he think I am?!"

The billet emptied as she continued to rant, everybody deciding that now would be a good time to get to the mess hall, dinner would be soon anyways. In the end, only one person stayed behind, listening quietly to Louise's tirade about how the guy next to her had tried his best to make her miss her shots.

"D'you know what?", Louise eventually asked when she felt herself calming a little. "I expected better of them. I never would have thought grown men capable of such kindergarten pettiness."

Mia smiled sadly, getting to her feet. "I know", she offered, picking up the jacket that was still on the floor. She dusted it off and handed it to the taller woman. "They'll come around. Maybe they're just intimidated by your skill. And your spine."

A scoff worked its way up Louise's throat, but before it could leave her mouth, it turned into a heavy sigh. "Come on", she said, "wouldn't want to miss dinner."

Mia chuckled and they left the barracks together, strolling over to the mess hall.

 **.**

Louise's bad mood didn't go unnoticed and she was mostly left alone as she poked her food with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

"What's up with her?"

Her head jerked up, flinty eyes boring into the speaker. Liebgott. He was wearing his usual smirk and eyeing her with an amused sort of expression.

"Mind your own bloody business", she snapped.

He grinned and asked in mock-concern: "What? Did you fail your eval?"

Louise's features darkened into a scowl. "No, I did not", she replied, "but the bastard next to me tried to set me up to fail." She speared a piece of meat with her fork. "That weaselly guy from Fox Company."

"Jesus Christ", Liebgott muttered just loud enough for her to hear, "just what we need. A broad blaming a guy for her mistakes."

 **.**

Luckily, Helen and Kathleen were fast enough to hold her back, otherwise Louise would have socked Liebgott right across the face.

"I didn't make a mistake, you bastard", she spat. "I hit all marks even though he jostled me, flicked pebbles at me and tried to mess with the sights on my rifle! So stow your condescending shit and leave me alone!"

After a long moment of deafening silence where everybody was holding their breath, conversations were picked up again when it was determined that no fight was imminent.

It wasn't the first time Louise and Liebgott had butted heads, the latter frequently teasing the former about her British accent. Though usually, the woman simply fired back by pointing out that the last name Liebgott was of course as blue-bloodedly American as it gets.

* * *

After avoiding each other for the rest of the day, the two of them had the misfortune of ending up on guard duty together. They hardly spared each other more than an annoyed and unhappy glance and continued ignoring each other. Around them, darkness descended and the camp became quiet.

Eventually though, Liebgott couldn't stand it any longer. Standing guard was boring enough as it was; this was downright unbearable. So, he decided to extend an olive branch by asking: "So… they gonna make you a sniper now?"

Louise turned to look at him, unlit cigarette dangling between her lips. Even in the dark, he could see the surprise colouring her features. "I don't know", she shrugged. Her tone was guarded but neutral, a vast improvement from its earlier acidity. "They might."

He nodded and for a moment, their conversation petered out again.

 **.**

It was rekindled when Liebgott patted down the pockets of his uniform in search of a smoke. "Here", Louise said, offering one from her pack.

He took it and after lighting it, gave her a small smile. "Thanks."

"Consider it an apology", the British woman spoke with a smile of her own. "I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you."

Liebgott shrugged and allowed: "Well, I was riling you up, so I guess I had it coming."

She laughed. "Indeed."


	6. Chapter 6 - Of Punishments and Obstacles

**A/N: Hello everyone. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, I'm glad you enjoy my writing :)**  
 **Please note that my Spanish skills are practically non-existent. I can read it and I understand a word here and there when I hear it, but I never had it in school so I can't write or speak it. So, apologies for any mistakes and please feel free to correct them :)**

* * *

Sobel put them down every chance he got. And if he couldn't find a reason to yell at them and punish them, he invented one. Explanations and excuses were always ignored.

One time, Christenson was forced to repeat all 12 miles of the Friday night march because he had gone against orders and drunk from his canteen.

When Catherine protested that she had told him to do it since he had a bad cold and needed to stay hydrated, the CO chewed her out in front of the whole company before assigning her the same punishment as Christenson.

 **.**

Another time that Sobel was on a war-path, he had three of the women run Currahee late in the evening. The sun had already set when he shouted: "Fall out!", meaning they would only return well after nightfall.

The unlucky three were Jessica, Ana María and Mia. Their offenses? Sneezing, being too short and being too flat-chested, respectively.

The three women were fuelled by their outrage and embarrassment as they jogged up the road to the mountain. The rest of the company, many of them angry on behalf of their comrades, watched them go.

They ran in silence.

Jessica's cheeks and the back of her neck were still glowing from the tirade she had received for not being able to contain a sneeze.

Ana María was cursing their CO in her mind, a storm of Spanish insults and expletives swirling inside her head.

Mia's expression was blank while she focused on her steps in the rapidly dwindling light, trying to ignore the burning clump of shame in her chest.

 **.**

Darkness fell before they had reached the top, making it twice as hard to make it up the slope of the path that became progressively steeper.

Ana María tripped and barely caught herself when her foot suddenly found a pothole. "Puñeta!", she spat, wiping her hands on her PT shorts.

"Are you okay?", Mia asked, helping her up.

"Fine", the Puerto Rican grumbled.

"I'd be a lot better if I could see where the hell I'm going", Jessica chimed in, slipping on some loose rocks a second later.

* * *

Reaching the top stone, the three women paused for breath. The only source of light they had was the waning moon.

"Well", Jessica quipped dryly, "if we break our necks, least we don't have to worry about Sobel anymore."

Her two companions huffed in agreement.

Mia squared her shoulders. "Alright", she said. "Let's go."

 **.**

The first part of their way back down was a disaster. The path was steep there and consisted of dirt, crumbly inclines and gravel. Roots peeked out here and there, nature's perfect trip wires and in the darkness, getting a foothold was a matter of trial and error.

Mia went down hard as Jessica crashed into her from behind when Ana María lost her footing and slid into Jessica, knocking her off her feet as well.

The young medic instinctively tried to break her fall, none too eager to pitch head first down the slope. Unfortunately, her left hand found uneven terrain. A sharp pain shot up to her elbow and she sucked in a breath as she caught herself before she could hit her head.

"Everyone okay?", she asked, sitting up and climbing to her feet.

Ana María groaned: "That's going to leave one big bruise", but she didn't hesitate to get up either.

"Ouch", Jessica groused, gladly accepting a hand up from Ana María. "We'll be feeling this tomorrow."

Mia carefully flexed her left wrist, which was now throbbing dully. "Mhm."

 **.**

They all sighed in relief when they reached the road again.

"At least nobody can see how dirty we are", Ana María pointed out. "My backside is covered in red dirt."

* * *

Sobel was nowhere to be seen when they returned to camp. They trudged to their billet, grabbed their shower kits and trudged to the showers, careful not to wake the others.

Under the shower, a number of scratches and scrapes came to light. Suppressing hisses and yelps of pain, the three women showered as quickly as they could in the dark. None of them saw the blood mixing with the dirty water on the floor, but they all knew it was there from the stinging of their skinned knees and palms.

Mia made a quick trip to the infirmary to fetch some bandaging material. She was heading back to her billet when all of a sudden, a figure blocked her path. She froze.

The beam of a flashlight hit her face and she shied back, squinting against the unexpected brightness.

The person recognised her discomfort and was considerate enough to point the beam away from her face.

 **.**

Blinking a few times to clear the white spots from her vision, Mia recognised the man as one of the platoon leaders from Dog Company. "Lieutenant Speirs", she greeted, keeping her voice low.

"What are you doing out of your billet at this hour, soldier?", he asked, his tone even.

Mia, tired and sore, rubbed her eyes and explained: "We had to run Currahee, sir. I just got some bandages and plasters."

The lieutenant frowned. "You ran up and down the mountain in the dark?", he questioned, asking for confirmation with the barest hint of an inflection in his voice.

"Yes sir."

Speirs' expression shifted, but in the light of a solitary flashlight, the young medic couldn't decipher it. And frankly, she was too tired. She just followed him when he motioned for her to do so.

 **.**

"What is your name, soldier?", he asked as they walked through the dark compound.

"Mia Arricante, sir."

He nodded and said: "You shouldn't wander around alone at night, Arricante."

A weary smile turned up the corner of her mouth. "I couldn't expect Jessica and Ana María to walk with me to the infirmary and back", she reasoned. "They're exhausted."

"And you aren't?", Speirs questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Who cares?", she asked back with a tired sigh. "I'm a medic, it's my job to look after them."

 **.**

They reached the women's billet. Mia thanked the lieutenant for accompanying her and bid him good night in just a handful of words.

Speirs gave her a nod and left, disappearing in the night.

Silently opening the door, Mia tiptoed through the billet, carefully stepping around the creaky floor boards until she got to her bunk. In the light of a tiny flashlight, she cleaned Jessica and Ana María's injuries and put some plasters on spots that were still weeping. Then, she quickly tended to her own scrapes before clicking off the flashlight.

The three women dropped onto their respective bunks and were soon dead asleep, exhaustion overwhelming them before they could even think more about their aches and wounds.

* * *

When they didn't run Currahee, the aspiring paratroopers ran the obstacle course. Like almost every other PT exercise, it was timed. Each trooper had to negotiate the course within 3 minutes. And the most hated obstacle, one that led to the dismissal of many a man, was the 10-foot wall, which had to be climbed without anyone's assistance.

 **.**

Helen hopped through the rope squares. It always reminded her of the many days she had spent playing hopscotch with her friends as a child. Though there, it had been fun, without any pressure.

Here, if she wasn't careful, she could trip over a rope and fall, losing precious time and that could ultimately lead to her losing her spot in Easy.

"Go, Helen!", Elizabeth called from where she was waiting for her turn.

 **.**

Up ahead, Kathleen crawled through the wooden tunnel, wishing not for the first time that she were smaller.

Or, at least, more flexible, like Maxine for example. The upper-class woman from D.C. benefited from her ballet lessons that had left her legs strong and her body enviably agile.

She somersaulted out of the tunnel and overtook Dukeman.

 **.**

Theresa took a deep breath before jumping up, grabbing onto the first rung of the monkey bars that spanned a 30-foot body of water. Apart from the wall, she hated this obstacle the most. Crossing the horizontal ladder hand over hand required a lot of strength and no small amount of dexterity. She couldn't remember just how many times she had lost her grip and gotten soaked.

Gritting her teeth, she continued struggling forward, reminding herself that it was all about the momentum, as Ana María had told her.

At only 4 foot 11, the Puerto Rican was the smallest of the entire company, so naturally, Theresa had asked her how she could cross this particular obstacle so easily.

"It's about the momentum", she had replied. "You can't stop and you need to put your whole body into it. Watch Mia next time, she told me this."

 **.**

"C'mon, let's go!", Lieutenant Winters called. "C'mon!"

Frances was neck and neck with Irene, but it was only for a few seconds. Then, the more athletic of the two increased her speed, easily jumping the trench before them. Frances followed suit, pushing off the edge and trying to copy her friend's technique. It was very close, but she made it and that alone gave her a little bit of energy.

 **.**

At the hated ten-foot wall, Jessica pulled herself up and nearly fell down the other side, such was her surprise at clearing the obstacle on her first attempt. "Yes!", she whispered to herself.

Skinny grinned at her as they both dropped down and continued her run.

 **.**

Louise and Mia reached the wall at almost the same time, the medic a bit ahead of the sniper. The British woman watched as her friend sprinted towards the obstacle and jumped up. Mid-air, she braced her free foot against the wall and pushed off, half-turning and grabbing hold.

A split-second later, Louise scaled the wall using the exact same method.

 **.**

Nearly at the end of the course, Catherine was on her stomach, crawling through the mud under coils of barbed wire. To add a dose of realism, there were machine guns firing above their heads, giving them a very good incentive to keep their heads and backsides low. The Hawaiian mother of two wasn't too keen on finding out whether they were using live rounds or just blanks.

"Jesus, what the hell is this?", she heard Muck pant in front of her.

She didn't really care. The smell was awful.

Bull replied: "That's pig's guts, boy!"

 _Ew._ Catherine tried to keep her face away from the bloody, stinking mud as best as she could. All her efforts proved to be futile when they had to cross a ditch filled with more innards.

It was the sound that got to her. Feeling the blood saturate her ODs was nasty and the stench was revolting, but the squelching, squishing sound of their bodies tumbling down the slope and rolling through the intestines made her stomach turn.

Catherine gagged and hurried to pull herself out of the ditch.

* * *

The entire company looked like it had been to war after the course. Their ODs were slick with mud, sweat and blood, their faces smeared with grime, their gear in desperate need of cleaning.

"You know, I'm surprised none of you dames fainted at the sight of all the blood", Roy Cobb mentioned.

Eugene Roe shook his head and Bill Guarnere drawled: "Ah, shut up, Cobb."

 **.**

The women who happened to around to hear Cobb's remark shared telling glances before turning to look at him again. Then, they burst into laughter.

"That is the silliest thing I've heard all day", Elizabeth guffawed.

Kathleen agreed, asking him: "Don't you know _anything_ about women?"

"Fainting at the sight of blood." Jessica shook her head, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "Honey, we see blood every month."

Needless to say, nobody ever mentioned women being squeamish about blood again.


	7. Chapter 7 - Upset

**Hello everyone and welcome back to another chapter! Thank you so much for your reading and reviewing of my story, I really appreciate it. It brightens my days, something I can really use right now... I won't bore you with details, but my brother has been terribly unwell these past few weeks. He's getting better now, but it's still quite stressful.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It delves a little more into the emotions and dynamics between the women, so I hope you like it :)**

* * *

Out of the 24 women in 2nd Battalion, 19 had a sweetheart back home. Out of those, 11 were married or in a serious relationship. After going steady for 4 years, Theresa Nolan had gotten engaged to her high school sweetheart Thomas Brady right before basic training. She kept a picture of him in a locket that she wore around her neck and she religiously wrote to him every Saturday evening.

So each time they got mail, she always eagerly anticipated Vest calling "Nolan, Theresa!"

A week before Thanksgiving, mail call was in the evening. Usually, it was sometime during the day, but apparently HQ had been just as busy as the rest of the companies in their regiment.

When her name was called, Theresa replied: "Here!" and took the letter she was handed. She smiled happily as she sliced open the envelope and fished out the neatly folded piece of paper. Her eyes raced across the words as if she couldn't bear to read it slowly.

After only a few lines, her smile began to fade, a look of shock and disbelief taking over.

 **.**

"What's going on?", Irene asked when she looked up from her own letter and saw her friend's distress.

"Tommy", Theresa said slowly, eyes still fixed on her fiancé's familiar handwriting. "He, um…he"- her voice broke and she swallowed thickly, staring at the letter with a stricken expression on her face.

Kathleen leaned over and skimmed the letter, an arm wrapped around Theresa's shoulders. "Oh", she made softly. "Oh, Theresa, I am so sorry."

Catherine stood up and came over from where she had been seated at a table behind them. She could see that Theresa was fighting hard not to burst into tears in the middle of the mess hall and judging by the expressions of those around her, she could guess the contents of the other woman's letter.

"Hey Reese", she said, smiling warmly. "How about we go somewhere quiet, hm?"

Theresa nodded, sniffling and tucking the letter into her pocket.

 **.**

Many pairs of eyes followed them as Catherine guided the distraught Nebraskan out of the mess hall, one arm around her back.

Perconte blurted: "What's with her?"

He received a disapproving look from Lipton and an eyeroll from John Martin, who was known to have one of the best scowls in the company.

"She got a Dear John letter", Frances said, pointedly focusing on her meal.

"Oh."

If anybody later on noticed Theresa's red and swollen eyes or the salt stains on the shoulder of Catherine's uniform blouse, they were polite and considerate enough not to mention them.

* * *

After losing their weekend pass one too many times because of an infraction related to their hair – it was too long, it wasn't pulled back properly, a single hair was out of place… - the women had enough.

"That's it!", Irene declared angrily, rummaging through her footlocker. "I've had it with him!"

"Me too!", Helen exclaimed, digging around in her duffel. "I haven't had a weekend pass in weeks!"

"None of us have", Jessica complained before huffing in annoyance: "Ugh! Does anybody have any spare scissors?"

Maxine soothed: "We only need a couple. If you can't find them, it's not that bad."

 **.**

Kathleen gathered the scissors they had already set out on her bunk, which was the most convenient one since it was in the middle of the room. "We got 5 pairs, that's more than enough."

"Who knows how to do this?", Catherine asked, gaze travelling over them.

A few hands went up.

"Alright", Ana María said, rubbing her hands together. "Let's get going."

The looks they got the next morning were priceless, the cheers and applauding whistles a definite plus. Their hairstyles ranged from short to mid-neck length and even though some of them had had a hard time coming to terms with their new haircut, their CO's dumbfounded expression was absolutely worth it.

* * *

On barracks inspections, Sobel liked to search for contraband and never bothered being respectful of anybody's property. Footlockers were emptied onto bunks, clothes tossed carelessly on the floor, personal items strewn all across the billet.

For the women, those raids were particularly uncomfortable just purely from knowing that Sobel was rummaging through their things, leaving undergarments and other feminine products lying around for the rest of the officers and basically everyone else to see. The only comfort was the knowledge that the other officers were all decent people.

 **.**

"For crying out loud, does he _have_ to make such a mess?", Elizabeth sighed, folding some panties.

Jessica snorted and replied: "Sure, how else would we know who's in charge?"

"He's insufferable", Kathleen said, "nothing but a bully."

Catherine shot them a warning look as she helped Irene gather up the contents of her small cosmetics pouch. "Don't let anyone hear you talk about the CO like that", she warned.

"Yeah", Louise agreed, her voice sounding muffled since she was fishing around under her bunk for her pen, "he's an ass, but he's our superior."

 **.**

Ana María scoffed and shoved a stack of clothes into her footlocker. "You can talk, he didn't leave your panties and bras all over the place."

The British sniper crawled back out from under her bunk. "No", she retorted with a grunt, "but he upended my footlocker."

"He wrinkled and dog-eared my book", Kathleen complained.

"Do you really want to start fighting over whose things are the biggest mess?", Mia asked, looking between them in consternation.

Theresa glanced at her, nodding her silent agreement. Sure, it was annoying, but what good did bitching about the mess?

"And she speaks", Jessica cracked dryly, making Helen and Elizabeth snicker.

Frances opened her mouth to jump to her friend's defence, but she was beaten to it by Catherine, who said sharply: "Hey, enough. Let's clean up and go to dinner. We're just wasting time." Her tone and expression brooked no argument.

* * *

Not too eager to subject her fellow medic to more jokes and jibes, Catherine decidedly nudged Mia into a seat next to Joe Toye before sitting down next to her, opposite Gene.

"You didn't have to, you know", the younger woman said quietly, twirling her fork. "They were just angry."

"Who?", George, who was sitting across from Catherine, asked curiously. "What happened?" Over the past few weeks, he had come to see Mia as his friend and so he was naturally feeling a bit protective, especially since he'd recognised that she was rather sensitive to spiteful comments.

"It's not important", Mia waved off quickly, offering him a brief smile.

Catherine briskly shook her head. "We were all annoyed", she countered, cutting off a piece of the day's mystery meat. "Doesn't mean we all get a free pass to mock you."

 **.**

Toye frowned and turned his head to look at the young woman, who dropped her gaze to her plate. He had quickly decided that so far, out of all the women in the company, he liked the two medics best. They were calm, approachable and kind to everyone.

"Why'd they mock you?", Gene spoke up, his soft Cajun drawl not completely hiding his distaste. Early on, the medics had bonded and their friendship had evolved quickly, helped by the fact that they sometimes trained separate to the rest of the company.

Mia sighed. "Our barrack was inspected" – she interrupted herself and asked: "Weren't you inspected, too?"

Upon receiving negative answers, she explained. "Well, the others were complaining and started arguing about out of whose stuff Sobel had made the biggest mess. And I asked them if they were going to fight about that."

"And somebody felt the need to tease her", Catherine continued, a frown pursing her lips, "and say: 'And she speaks'."

 **.**

Luz rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Eh, who cares?", he said, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Isn't there a saying about silence being gold and talking being silver and shit?"

They chuckled, Mia smiling softly, a blush rising in her cheeks.

"There's enough bigmouths around", Toye spoke up in his gravelly voice. "'s nice to have some quiet fellas, too."

"Exactly." George nodded enthusiastically and pointed at the quieter people at their table with his knife. "And I know for a fact that you are all great listeners." The big, cheesy grin he gave them made them laugh, but it didn't detract from the sincerity and truth of his statement.


	8. Chapter 8 - Spaghetti and more

**Hello my dear readers! I am so sorry for not updating last week, but I've ended up with the same illness that plagued my brother and so I've been a bit of a zombie these past few days... But since I'm feeling better now, I'm posting the next chapter.**

 **As always, I cannot thank you guys enough for all your reviews! I'm so happy that you enjoy my writing and if you have any suggestions or ideas, feel free to leave me a review or send me a PM and I'll see about integrating them into the story.**

 **And now, without further ado: On with the story.**

* * *

Not more than a few days later, Sobel's ruthless training methods reached new heights. Many of them had been surprised to see two gold bars on his collar and everybody expected him to rub their noses in it, but this simply defied description.

"Who in God's name thought it a good idea to promote him?", Irene whispered to Helen, who just shrugged, equally helpless.

Sobel's promotion wasn't the only change of ranks among the officers of Easy Company, though. Lieutenant Richard Winters had been made First Lieutenant the same day. And to test his organisational skills and command potential, _Captain_ Sobel had designated him mess officer.

 **.**

"I can't believe it", Frances gushed, plopping down onto a free spot and digging into her food with unusual fervour. "Spaghetti!"

Theresa shook her head. "Long noodles with something that maybe once was tomato sauce", she corrected. Not that she wasn't eating with just as much enthusiasm as anybody else. After all, a good, actually recognisable meal wasn't something one got to see every day in the Army.

"I don't care", Kathleen dismissed, "compared to the other stuff, this is delicious!"

Their joy and appetite were very short-lived unfortunately, because not even two minutes after the last person had found a seat, the door flew open and Captain Sobel, the Black Swan himself, barged in.

"Order's changed, get up!", he bellowed.

Everyone surged to their feet, some in the midst of chewing. Maxine hastily swallowed her mouthful of spaghetti, very nearly choking on it.

"Lectures are cancelled", the CO continued, "Easy Company is running up Currahee! Move! move!"

As they rushed out of the mess hall, Catherine could only think one thing: _This is going to be a disaster._

* * *

And it was. People were throwing up everywhere, stumbling and staggering as their bodies were forced to reroute all energy from the digestive process to their muscles. To complete the picture of misery and add insult to injury, Sobel continuously bombarded them with mocking jeers, singling out soldiers and yelling taunts at them for the whole company to hear.

"Not looking so tough now, Fields!", he called, running alongside Louise, who was trying to coordinate running, breathing and bringing up her lunch. "You still think a woman can be a sniper?"

The young British woman viciously spat out another mouthful of bile and stubbornly kept her gaze trained on the person in front of her. She had half a mind to vomit onto his shoes Luckily, Sobel decided to move on to another soldier so he didn't catch the hate-filled glare she shot at his back.

 **.**

"What are you doing here, Helak?! Women will never be paratroopers, they do not have the right disposition!"

"You're a washout, Private Hoobler! You should pack up those ears and go home!"

"Getting tired, Vaughn? Huh? What about you, Griffith? You want it to stop? It can be over right now!"

"Looks like Gordon's done! Aren't you, Gordon, you finished?! You do not deserve to get your wings!"

"You're a disgrace to this outfit, Hernandez!"

 **.**

He moved on to Denver Randleman, aptly nicknamed "Bull" since he was one of the tallest, strongest and brawniest men in the company.

"Private Randleman, you look tired!", Sobel goaded.

Irene, who happened to be running next to Bull, glanced over and thought to herself: _No, he doesn't._

Their company commander continued: "There's an ambulance waiting for you at the bottom of the hill. It can all be over right now. No more pain, no more Currahee…no more Captain Sobel."

Luz, bless his heart, started a marching cadence. " _We pull upon the risers_ ", he sang.

" _We fall upon the grass_ ", the rest of the company joined in. " _We never land on our feet, we always hit our ass. Highty tighty Christ Almighty, who the hell are we? Zim Zam, god damn, we're Airborne infantry!_ "

They repeated the chant, their pace evening out. They continued their song as they fought their way up to the top, all running on sheer determination and spite.

* * *

The bonds within the company strengthened with each day. The men and women had all proven themselves capable and resilient. They had earned each other's respect and now learned more about each other on a personal level.

Everyone, including the more private, reserved and quiet members of the company, had formed friendships with their comrades.

They chatted over a cigarette, traded jokes and stories during latrine or KP duty, they laughed and talked at meal times, got to know each other while they sat together and shined their shoes or played cards.

That didn't mean that it was all smooth sailing. There were hick-ups from time to time, small disagreements or differences in opinion that were generally either resolved rather quickly or simply accepted and put aside.

On one occasion, however, a few thoughtless words were enough to jeopardise one particular friendship.

* * *

Mia was on her way to the women's billet to quickly fetch something before she was expected at the infirmary. She walked between the wooden huts that were the company barracks, enjoying the idle afternoon and the late November sun.

"Are you serious? How can she be German?"

She slowed when Perconte's voice came from inside the barracks she was passing.

Luz answered: "Well, Frank, her mother is from Germany." The young medic could just picture the flat look he was probably shooting the short Italian.

Eyes widening, she came to a dead stop. They were talking about her! Straining her hearing, she could hear the clacking of poker chips. Somebody said something she couldn't quite make out, the voice too low to identify the words or the speaker. Whatever it was, it made the men laugh.

Then, very clearly, Mia heard George's voice.

"Yeah, who knows", he quipped. "Maybe she's a double agent."

Her face fell. Hurt and sadness wrapped an iron hand around her throat and heart. How could he say that? Giving the side of the barrack one last, disappointed look, she hurried away. Tears began to prick at her eyes. She wiped them away. How could George say something like that?

 **.**

Bypassing her own billet, the young medic headed straight for the infirmary. It was her turn to do the inventory. Which was just fine with her since it gave her some much-needed solitude.

Her chest heavy with feelings of betrayal and disappointment, she smiled at the doctor on duty, picked up the clipboard and went through to the storage room, closing the door behind her.

As she started counting and cataloguing the supplies, her mind kept replaying George's words. "Maybe she's a double agent." That single sentence echoed inside her head, pounding against her skull and driving claws into her heart.

* * *

Mia wasn't even aware that she was crying until her vision blurred and she noticed something wet on her face.

"Great", she sniffled, sitting back on her haunches and swiping a hand across her cheeks. New tears quickly followed the ones she had dashed away and eventually, she gave up and let them fall.

 _If they could see you now_ , a tiny voice mocked her. _How pathetic you are._

"Yeah, that's what I am, I guess", she mumbled, taking a shaky breath and jotting down the number of bottles of rubbing alcohol. Molten glass was beginning to bubble in her stomach, anger at herself rising in her. "Pathetic and stupid" – she pushed a box of bandages back into its place, the entire shelf jiggling – "and blind and-"

An empty glass container slipped and fell to the ground, breaking with an almighty crash.

 **.**

The young woman turned and simply closed her eyes for a moment. One part of her really felt like screaming while the other was just numb.

"Toll", she huffed with a wobbly, humourless laugh. "Ganz toll." She knelt down and began gathering the shards, making sure to brush even the smallest pieces to the pile.

"Is everything alright in here?"

Mia startled with a full-body flinch, holding back a frightened squeak as her head swivelled around to the voice.

Apparently, in her distracted, upset state, she had forgotten that the back door of the storage room had been left ajar to let in some fresh air. Standing in the doorway was none other than Lieutenant Speirs, looking down at her with a blank expression.

 **.**

He studied the medic, who smiled and offered "Yes sir. Nothing to worry about." before going back to cleaning up the broken glass. He couldn't help but frown at her words which were so at odds with the tear tracks he could see on her cheeks.

He had seen the young woman around camp and they had sat or stood next to each other in quiet company enough times for him to get to know her personality and habits at least a little. And while it was no secret that Mia wasn't a big talker, he had never seen her _this_ silent.

After a moment's consideration, Speirs decided: "You should take a break, private."

He turned and stepped outside.

Blinking at the open door, Mia sighed and gave a shrug. Throwing away the pieces of broken glass, she followed the lieutenant, finding him leaning against the side of the building, cigarette between his fingers. Silently, he offered her one.

With a dip of her head, she took it.

* * *

George Luz couldn't shake the feeling that he had done something wrong. He knew that Mia was a quiet and mellow girl whose presence spread a sense of calm. As they grew closer, though, she always had a smile for him and listened to even his most inane ramblings. But suddenly, she was guarded and clammed up again.

And only towards him.

It was almost an entire day later that he finally managed to catch her alone. He hadn't expected his friend to be so skilled at avoiding him. Which made him only more confused and uneasy. He racked his brains, but he couldn't figure out what he had done to drive her away.

 **.**

"Mia, wait!"

The young medic stopped and half-turned back. Frances and Ana María lingered for a moment, looking at their friend, who gave them a smile and a nod. They nodded back and continued on their way.

Luz didn't miss the deep breath she took, almost as if she was bracing herself for something. "Listen", he began, "um, did something happen? You seem different." He cleared his throat. "I really thought about it, because it's obviously something I did, but…I just don't know. So, please tell me what I did so I can make it up to you. Because…whatever I did, I'm sorry."

Mia had listened silently, her expression changing from blank to attentive to sad. She shook her head, her brows furrowed and her eyes dark. "A blanket apology doesn't really make it sound all that sincere", she remarked. "How can you say sorry if you don't even know what you're apologising for?"

Her tone, the hurt in her voice, felt like a knife in his gut.

"Because it clearly hurt you", he answered. "And I'd never want that. You're my friend."

A crumpled, smudged copy of a smile flitted across her face. "I thought we were friends, too", she said softly, gaze falling away.

 **.**

It seemed to George that his heart and stomach had just sunk to knee-level. All he could get out was a lame "What?"

The young woman raised her head and looked him dead in the eye. He almost recoiled, unused to seeing so much pure vulnerability in her eyes.

"'Maybe she's a double agent'", she recited hollowly.

Realisation dawned on Luz' features, his gut twisting with horror and guilt. "It…it was a joke", he stammered out, even though he knew that was beside the point. The words tasted stale on his tongue.

"But what if somebody thought it wasn't?", Mia challenged, voice wavering. "Luz, I would be in deep shit. My family- God, I don't even want to think about it." She shook her head, raking a hand through her hair.

Silence stretched between them.

 **.**

"I shouldn't have said it." George ran a hand down his face, regarding her with guilt clearly etched into his features. "It was stupid and thoughtless and I know saying sorry isn't going to make it right. But… for what it's worth, I really like you and I still want to us to be friends, so- " He paused to find the right words and to offer her a contrite, genuinely apologetic smile. "I hope you can forgive me and if you do, I'll be there."

Her expression had softened, her lip curled into a sad half-smile. She nodded and he nodded back.

Holding her gaze for another beat, George turned to leave.

He had taken maybe four steps when he heard her call.

"Luz?"

He turned. "Yeah?"

Mia's smile, barely more than a bleak tilt of the corner of her mouth, did nothing to ease the pain in his chest. "Thanks", she said.

Now feeling even more miserable, Luz didn't find it in him to smile back. "Yeah", he replied softly.

Then, he walked away, shoulders hunched under the weight of the knowledge that his flippant joke might have just ruined the budding friendship he'd initiated and cultivated so carefully.


	9. Chapter 9 - Fort Benning

**Hello everyone :) Thanks for reading and reviewing the last chapter, I'm glad you enjoyed it.**

 **I have to admit, I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I couldn't figure out how to fix it. Well, by the time I revise this story after it's finished, I hopefully have a solution. Anyways, I hope you like it nonetheless.**

* * *

In order to become certified paratrooper, each man and woman had to complete five training jumps out of a C-47. For that, the regiment moved to Fort Benning. This relocation proved to be the most gruelling exercise of their time in Toccoa.

Colonel Sink had read an article about a Japanese unit that had completed a forced march of 100 miles in 72 hours and since he was determined to prove that his regiment could do better, he sent 2nd Battalion on a 118-mile field march from Camp Toccoa to Atlanta.

 **.**

The general consensus among the troops was that this was the most miserable experience they'd ever had. Setting off on 1st December 1942, they marched over rough and muddy roads in cold, rainy weather. The temperatures hovered around the freezing point, the rain sometimes turning to sleet or snow.

But, as much as they suffered over the four days it took them to reach Atlanta, the troopers' determination prevailed. Even when their limbs were numb from the cold, when they could hardly move from exhaustion or when they were practically delirious with pain, they kept moving.

And after 75 hours and 15 minutes, with an actual marching time of 33 hours and 30 minutes, the battalion reached their destination.

* * *

In the last two weeks of December, Easy Company qualified as paratroopers. In sticks of 12 people, they sat in the C-47s, waiting for their jump master's command when they reached the drop zone.

"Get ready!", their instructor yelled over the rattling and droning of the plane. "Stand up!"

Elizabeth got to her feet, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. Her heart beat was loud in her own ears.

"Hook up!"

Following the command, Irene reached up and attached herself to the static line, watching the men in front of her do the same.

"Check equipment!"

With shaky fingers, Helen checked her own gear before making sure Lipton's webbing was okay.

 **.**

"Sound off for equipment check!"

With all the noise on the plane, it was impossible to hear more than the person behind and in front of oneself.

"Six okay!", Maxine heard from behind, accompanied by a slap on her arm to indicate all was in order.

"Five okay!", she shouted, giving Malarkey a clap on the shoulder.

"Four okay!", he continued the sound-off.

"Stand in the door!"

Ana María hurriedly whispered a prayer, crossing herself as their line moved forward with each person that jumped.

 **.**

"Go!"

Talbert stepped out into the air and disappeared. Louise took his spot, hands braced on the outside of the door. Her body was buzzing with adrenaline. She didn't have time to think of all the things that could go wrong, of how crazy this was. The jump master gave the signal and she jumped.

Air whistled in her ears as she fell. Just barely, she held back a whoop of excitement. The prop blast tore at her, flinging her around like a ragdoll. Then, her canopy deployed, her fall slowing with an abrupt jerk.

 _Am I glad not to be a man_ , she thought to herself, giggling quietly as she grabbed the risers. _That surely can't be too comfortable._

Landing safely and just like she had been taught to, Louise wrestled with her parachute for a moment before it could drag her across the field. Turning around, she saw two familiar figures coming towards her. She waved at them, laughing when she heard shouts of exhilaration and excitement.

"Oh, this is so much fun!", Jessica crowed, smoothing her hair back down after it had been left in a bit of a state by her helmet.

Frances grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "The jumping part is easy, it's the waiting beforehand that drives me crazy."

 **.**

For one woman, the jumping part hadn't been easy.

Catherine had frozen in the door and had been forced to step back and watch the rest of her stick leave the aircraft. Her heart was pounding in her throat as the line grew shorter and shorter. _Come on, Catherine_ , she told herself _, you've come this far. You can do this._

So the mother of two asked the jump master if she could try again.

The pilot turned the aircraft around and flew across the field for a second time. Catherine stood in the doorway, her stomach doing somersaults.

"Takes a lot more guts to do it on the second try!", the jump master called to her.

She nodded, jaw set and lips pursed in a grim line. Her eyes were firmly glued to the horizon.

 _Breathe._

The light turned green.

"Go!", the jump master shouted.

And she jumped.

* * *

Even though the women had been successfully integrated into the company months ago, they still shared a special bond which the men accepted and respected. After all, in the beginning, the women had only had each other.

So, nobody was surprised when the women of Easy quickly gathered in an exuberant group hug as soon as they saw each other after completing the last jump.

Easy's men took pride in the fact that there were still 12 women in their company, a number which hadn't changed since the earliest days in Toccoa.

While two or three of their original female members had dropped out or left, others had requested to be in Easy Company. Meanwhile, Fox Company's share of women was at 9, while Dog Company unfortunately only had 3 women in its ranks now.

 **.**

Getting their jump wings and some of them receiving promotions of course called for a celebration. There was plenty of alcohol to go around and everyone was in a great mood.

Theresa sat at the bar, letting her gaze roam across the room. In the room full of men, her fellow women somehow stood out and yet, at the same time, blended right in.

Kathleen was in deep conversation with David Webster and Maxine. They had all had a privileged upbringing in the wealthier circles of society, so it was understandable that they gravitated towards each other when they were in need of more sophisticated company.

Elizabeth and Jessica were right in the middle of the excitement, cheering with the other men as they watched Bill Guarnere down his drink with his jump wings between his teeth. They were both very sociable and had a similar sarcastic wit, though occasionally, their sharp-tongued barbs turned hurtful.

Scanning the crowds, Theresa spotted Irene at a table, laughing and talking with Alley, Skinny and Popeye.

Across the room, Frances appeared to be making a bet with Malarkey over something.

She caught glimpses of Ana María dancing and Catherine on the other side of the bar, speaking with Lipton. The only ones she didn't see were Louise, Mia and Helen, but they were surely around somewhere, enjoying the party.

 **.**

"Corporal Toye."

Theresa turned around at the sound of Sobel's voice, even though she knew that it was only Luz impersonating the man.

"There will be no leaning in my company", he said.

Toye lazily pulled himself more upright while Theresa grinned. She shifted in her seat and watched as Luz went on to ask: "Are those dusty jump wings? How do you expect to slay the Huns with dust on your jump wings?"

Joe rolled his eyes, grabbed Luz by the lapel of his dress jacket and pulled him closer. "Luz", he told him in a slow growl, "just give me a drink."

Theresa smiled, draping an arm across Joe's back and leaning forward. "That is a fan _tas_ tic idea, Joe", she declared, exaggeratedly batting her eyelashes at Luz. "Mind getting me one, too?"

Luz grinned at them. "Hell of an idea", he said, setting two full glasses of beer in front of them before reaching for his own. He raised it for a toast. "Three miles up, three miles down."

They clinked their glasses together.

* * *

"Ten-hut!"

Everyone shot to their feet and stood at attention. Colonel Sink strode in, followed by Major Horton and other regimental staff officers. "Well, at ease, paratroopers", he said, smiling congenially at the company.

They relaxed, turning so that they were all facing their regimental commander.

"Good evening, Easy Company!", Sink greeted.

"Evening, sir!"

He let his gaze roam over them and spoke: "Now, Parachute Infantry is a brand-new concept in American military history. But by God, the 506 is gonna forge that brand-new concept into victory!"

The company voiced their agreements.

The colonel nodded. "I want you to know that I'm damn proud of each and every one of you", he continued. "Now, you deserve this party." He paused to thank Chuck, who had stepped forward to hand him a beer.

 **.**

Looking at the assembled company, his eyes landed on the faces of the women that had now become certified paratroopers along with the men. "Another concept that is brand-new to American military history is the introduction of women in combat", he said.

The men turned their heads to glance at their female comrades, who were looking embarrassed and proud to varying degrees.

"You have probably worked harder than any man in this room to be where you are today", Sink told them, "you have shown remarkable determination in the face of adversity. And I think I can speak for everyone here in saying that I am damn proud to have such dedicated and fine women in this regiment."

Cheers and hoots rang out as the men applauded them.

Colonel Sink finished his speech by addressing everyone and saying: "So, I want you to have fun, and remember our motto: Currahee!"

"Currahee!", the company responded as one.

* * *

The music was back on and people were back to drinking, dancing and having a good time.

Luz was talking with Toye and Frances when suddenly, he trailed off, his bright expression turning downcast.

"What's going on?", Frances asked, twisting around to see what or who the cheerful radioman was looking at.

Toye followed suit and frowned when all he saw was Mia making her way towards them, smiling and exchanging a few words with people as she went. He turned back to Luz, who was watching the young woman with sadness and – was that guilt? – in his eyes.

"Luz?", he pressed.

He might not be the most perceptive person in the world, but anyone with eyes had noticed how Luz and Mia, who had been well on their way to becoming close friends, had suddenly drifted apart. And if it hadn't been obvious before that at least Luz was extremely unhappy with that, it was now.

 **.**

Luz didn't have time to explain because Mia reached them. "Hey", she greeted them with a smile before her gaze fell on Luz. Her smile didn't slip, but her mien softened. "Hi George."

"Hi Mia", he replied, his tone an odd mixture of guilty and hopeful that left Frances and Toye looking at each other in confusion.

She rounded the counter of the bar, Luz moving to meet her. "I miss you", the young medic confessed quietly.

His expression turned possibly even sadder. "I miss you, too", he admitted.

"Can we-", she shifted from one foot onto the other, "can we be friends again? I want us to be friends again."

A massive grin split Luz' face and he wrapped Mia in a huge hug. "I want us to be friends again, too! Because you're a really great gal and I'm an idiot. And I know it's not worth much, but I'm still sorry."

He felt her chuckles vibrate in her torso.

"So...", he asked after they pulled back, "we're good?"

Mia laughed softly, nodding her head. "Yes, George. We're good."

 **.**

Later, after Mia had practically been dragged away by an excited Ana María, Toye and Frances demanded an explanation.

"What was that about, Luz?", Toye wanted to know.

Luz sighed and told them how he had nearly destroyed their friendship with a thoughtless comment.

Frances, normally one of the most light-hearted and easy-going members of the company, fixed him with a dead serious look and said: "You say something stupid like that again about her, I'm gonna punch you."

"Please do", Luz requested without hesitation. He never wanted to see that look of heartbroken disappointment and betrayal on Mia's features again. Especially not when he was the one to put it there.

* * *

Out of all the women, Maxine probably took the most pride in her new rank. As they were getting ready for bed later that night, she brushed her fingers over the chevrons on the sleeves of her ODs.

"Staff Sergeant Maxine Lloyd", she said, savouring each syllable like a particularly delicious drop of wine.

"Does have a nice ring to it, doesn't it?", Louise agreed, smiling at her. She was quite happy with her own position as well, now not only the company's sniper, but also a Sergeant.

Maxine grinned. "Oh yes! That'll show my family that I'm more than just _pretty_." She spat the word out, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

 **.**

Growing up in an upper-class family in Washington D.C., Maxine had always been praised for her stunning looks and her elegance. The older she got, however, the more the young woman had come to loathe being called pretty or variations thereof.

The other women had discovered that already during the first week of their month-long training and evaluation period.

"I want people to see that I'm more than just a pretty face!", Maxine had explained to them one night, years' worth of frustration in her voice. "Why does nobody tell me I'm intelligent? Or nice? Or anything other than _pretty_?"

 **.**

Elizabeth smiled at her and said: "Well, and if they don't believe it, we sure know it."

"That's right", Jessica chimed in, nodding her head decidedly. "You're smart and strong and a good leader."

The other women emphatically voiced their agreement, making the newly appointed Staff Sergeant smile, touched by their support. "Thank you, ladies. Really."

 **.**

The women were all proud of their achievements. Irene had a pair of Sergeant's chevrons on her uniform just like Louise. Catherine, thanks to her promotion to Technician 4th Grade, now also held the title of ranking medic. Mia was a T-5, as was Ana María, who had been assigned as one of the company's radio operators.

Theresa had advanced to the rank of Corporal while Frances, Jessica and Kathleen had been made Privates First Class. Helen and Elizabeth hadn't been promoted, but neither of them minded.

They were fully-fledged paratroopers and part of the best company in the regiment, that was all that counted for them.


	10. Chapter 10 - Camp Mackall

**Hello everybody! Sorry for not updating yesterday, but the internet at my department at uni crashed and stayed down for almost half of the day...**

 **Thank you very much for your lovely responses to the last chapter and for reassuring me when I wasn't quite happy with my work. You people are awesome!**

 **Without further ado, here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it :)**

* * *

Ten days. They all received a ten-day furlough after earning their jump wings. Excitement was in the air as everybody prepared to go home and see their families for a few days.

Ana María sat on her bunk, dreaming about what it would be like to spend time with her parents and siblings. She would go to church with them, papá would fuss over her short hair and mamá would once again fondly shake her head over her decision to enlist instead of going to college. Her younger siblings would beg for stories of basic training and would no doubt brag to all their friends about their big sister, the hero.

But she couldn't go home because her little sister had contracted measles. Now everyone in the same household was at risk of infection and she really couldn't afford to get sick. Instead, she would try to enjoy the free days as much as possible. No drills, no marches, no Sobel. It was nearly as good as a holiday.

 **.**

Jessica grinned to herself as she packed her bag. She couldn't wait to see her family again. David and Fabian, her two younger brothers, would tease her as much as they could, but they would be suitably impressed by how strong she'd gotten. Her mother would grumble about how there were other ways to earn money to put the boys through school and her father would praise her and tell her to make the Nazis pay.

And she was looking forward to introducing them to Elizabeth. The red-headed Las Vegan was coming with her since her relationship with her own family was rocky at best. And because she refused to just leave her best friend to spend ten days alone on base, Jessica had immediately made the executive decision to invite her to her home, something which Elizabeth greatly appreciated.

 **.**

Helen wasn't too excited at the prospect of travelling across half the country to get home. Sure, she missed her family and her friends, but she was going to spend nearly half of her furlough in uncomfortable train and bus seats. But it would be good to see her mother and grandparents, especially Grandpa Will. He had been in the last war and she really wanted to talk to him.

Luckily, she wasn't the only one from her battalion to board the train towards Arizona. People got off at every station, but there were some that travelled even further than her, so she always had some company. They talked about their plans for when they got home, about their families and friends, played poker and swapped stories of their hometowns and their inhabitants.

 **.**

Irene seized the chance to go home to Rock Springs, Wyoming and spend a few days with her family. And get married. Her boyfriend Theo had proposed to her via letter just before Thanksgiving and now, they would have the wedding in the middle of her furlough. While she would remain Sergeant McKinsey in the army, she would become Irene Pletcher in civilian life.

On the train, she read through that special letter once more, a smile adorning her features. Oh, what a surprise this had been. She'd gasped so loudly that the entire mess hall had stared at her. But the deafening roar of cheers and claps that had gone up when she had revealed her engagement…she'd never heard anything like it. Thinking back to that moment, showered with congratulations and good wishes, never failed to put a smile on her face.

* * *

"Say, Mia, why are you staying here?"

The half-German raised her head to look at Ana María studying her from across the table. "It's…easier this way", she said. "Leaving was very hard. I don't want to make it more painful." For that reason, she hadn't even mentioned the furlough to her family.

"Ah", the diminutive Puerto Rican made, a sympathetic smile making its way onto her tanned features. "They aren't happy with your choice?"

Mia shook her head in a yes-and-no kind of fashion, elaborating: "They worry a lot. They work very hard to give us a good life." Shrugging, she smiled at the other woman. "To see them again and then to say goodbye for the second time would be just more difficult."

Ana María voiced her understanding and the conversation trailed off into silence as both women focused on their dinner. Mia's reticence had never bothered her and since she didn't believe in talking for the sake of talking, Ana María was just as content to sit together quietly, exchanging a few words here and there.

 **.**

Kathleen took the evening train to New York, looking forward to seeing her parents again. Though she knew she would end up in an argument with them by the third evening. Her parents were loving and supportive, but since she was their only daughter, they tended to go overboard on the doting and protectiveness. Her mother in particular would lament over what she saw as a waste of her child's intellect.

Sighing and putting the thoughts out of her mind, Kathleen returned to her book. She was right in the middle of the story, but she planned to buy one or two new books during her furlough. Sure, her mother would mail her a new one whenever she asked for it and would unerringly choose one that her daughter enjoyed, but there was just nothing like going into a book store, browsing the shelves and selecting the books yourself.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts once more, Kathleen let the words draw her back into an entertaining and absurd world of Jack Worthing and Algernon Moncrieff. She valiantly tried to keep her amusement to herself, but every now and again, a soft giggle or stifled grin would escape her as she watched the scenes - and the pending chaos and confusion within them - unfold in front of her inner eye.

 **.**

Frances had the good fortune of living relatively close to Fort Benning. She barely registered the odd looks she was getting, to immersed in conversation with her twin brother Andrew who had come to pick her up at the station. The two of them had a grand time catching up and bantering back and forth as they strolled through the streets towards the Shea residence.

"Bet you a nickel that Dad is gonna be over the moon", she said. She had wanted to make it a surprise and had thus only told Andrew about it.

"Yep", he agreed, popping the 'p'. "He'll smile and just completely ignore that you'll only be here for a bit more than a week."

She chuckled, adjusting her cap. "Aunt Lola will tsk and tut about my looks and clothes-"

"-and Uncle Archie will pull a dime outta think air and give it to you with that wink", Andrew continued, sharing a knowing look with his sister. "And as soon as they hear, Flora and Rachel will come over for lunch and bring their families."

Frances smiled, already looking forward to that. It would be lively and chaotic and cheerful, like a typical Shea family meal.

 **.**

Travelling across no less than four state borders, Theresa pondered what it would be like at home. Her brother Sam, training as a navigator in the Air Force, had managed to get leave as well, so the entire family would be there to celebrate Nana's 75th birthday.

But she wondered what kind of reception she would get. Some, like her brother, her mom and her grandparents, were proud of her and always encouraged and supported her. Others – mostly her father and quite a few members of her extended family circle – frowned upon her choice to enlist, muttering about impropriety and "girl doesn't know her place".

 **.**

Blinking blearily against the sun as she hailed a taxi, Catherine stifled a yawn. A five-hour time difference might not sound like much, but she was already lacking sleep, so it was no wonder that her eyes felt gritty and her lids each weighed a ton.

"Where to, Ma'am?", asked the taxi driver, smiling at her.

Catherine gave him the address and sank into the seat, watching the familiar palm tree-lined streets drift past. She couldn't wait to cuddle her kids and kiss her husband.

"Mommy! Daddy, look, it's Mommy!", two voices she had missed so much shrieked and two pairs of feet hurried down the steps.

Gwen and Tommy barrelled along the path leading up to the front door and wrapped their arms tightly around their mother, hugging her with all their might.

Catherine swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "Hi, you two", she said, dropping kisses onto the crowns of their heads and watching a few teardrops drip onto the pavement. "I've missed you."

* * *

Maxine was one of the few who stayed on base. After countless letters from her family that all seemed to say the same thing: "You've had your fun, come home before you get hurt or damage your reputation any further." Disappointed – really, she should be used to it by now, but still, it hurts – she had written back to tell them that she was now a qualified paratrooper and a Staff Sergeant, so no, she wasn't about to throw it all away for appearances' sake.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She looked up from the neatly arranged parts of her field-stripped rifle to see Louise sitting across from her, in the process of disassembling her own weapon. The Brit had elected to remain in Fort Benning, for reasons Maxine had yet to discover.

Realising that Louise was still waiting for her response, she cleared her throat and explained: "Just wondering why you're not going home."

 **.**

Taking apart her sniper rifle with practiced ease, Louise gave a non-committal shrug. "Well", she said, "my parents are on a business trip to – actually, I don't know where – and with my cousins all either enlisted, too, or busy with their own lives, it just wouldn't be the same to visit my Gramps."

"I'm sorry", Maxine offered.

"No need", the blonde waved off, shoving the cleaning rod through the gun barrel. "After all, it's not so bad here. We can catch up on our sleep, spend some time socialising with people from other companies and basically just do what we like."

The Washingtonian nodded her head and sent her friend a smirk. "Which translates into spending hours on the shooting range for you, right?"

Louise grinned unabashedly and returned: "Of course. It's in fact tremendously pleasant when there isn't a certain commanding officer breathing down your neck."

They chuckled and their conversation continued flowing easily as they went through the routine motions of cleaning their rifles and checking the parts for damage.

 **.**

"Say", Louise asked eventually, raising her gaze from the dismantled receiver in her hands, "do you know if any of the ladies from Dog and Fox stayed?"

Maxine's brows creased in thought. "Hmm…no, I don't think so. Pretty sure I saw all of them getting onto the transport to the station."

"Right."

"Why do you ask?"

Louise shrugged. "No particular reason, just curious. Though I know that Audrey Maynard – you know, the New Zealander – was planning on coming back the day after tomorrow."

"What state does she live in anyway?", Maxine wondered. She couldn't remember the affable corporal from Fox Company ever mentioning that.

Pursing her lips and humming pensively, the sniper eventually had to admit that she didn't know either. "Hasn't come up whenever I talked to her", she said. "Oh well, can't know everything about everyone, can we?"

Maxine laughed, brushing some loose strands out of her face with the back of her hand, her fingers shiny with gun grease.

* * *

Six months later, Easy Company had moved to Camp Mackall. There, the focus of their training was on tactics and manoeuvres. Much to their misfortune, Captain Sobel had no sense of direction or strategy.

On one of many field exercises, Catherine, Irene, Kathleen and Helen once more had front row seats to the tragedy that was Sobel's leadership in the field.

After consulting the map and conferring in hushed whispers with Lieutenant Winters, the CO apparently decided that they should relocate.

"Second platoon", Winters whisper-yelled, "move out."

The four women, who were all crouching beside each other, shared looks of disbelief.

"Jesus Christ", Helen mumbled.

 **.**

Needless to say, Sobel's plan didn't hold up. The exercise ended with 95 % of their company 'killed' because the opposite team had been lying in ambush, only waiting for them to do something stupid like abandoning a perfectly covered defendable position.

The drill leader told Sobel to leave three wounded men on the ground and report back to the assembly area. Cursing under his breath, the CO complied, gesturing to the three nearest men with his pistol before storming off.

Looking at the 'wounded', Catherine turned and sought out the gaze of her fellow medic, Gene Roe. He looked at her with worry and defeat twisting his brow, an expression the woman knew was mirrored on her own face.

* * *

The concern and helpless frustration over Sobel among the enlisted continued to grow, festering like an ulcer. But there wasn't anything anyone could do about their CO getting jumpy in the field and before they knew it, the regiment was moving out again.

As they loaded their duffels onto the trucks and waited for their transport to who knows where, Jessica expressed her annoyance to the group she was sitting with.

"I swear to God, I didn't sign up just to get killed by an officer's stupidity", she sighed, dragging a hand through her hair, the long soldier's cut already growing out again.

Elizabeth huffed. "Yeah", she agreed. "Me neither."

"Shut up", Toye grumbled.

"You gotta admit", Cobb piped up, "he's got no chance. Either the Krauts will get him…or one of us."

"Who, Sobel?", Liebgott asked, crouching down over his duffel.

Jessica gave him a mock-cheerful thumbs up. "Bang on the money."

"He screwed up one manoeuvre", Shifty tried to reason.

He was met with several raised eyebrows and dubious looks.

Liebgott shifted, his signature smirk stretching on his lips. "Ah, you know I'm always fumbling with grenades", he said casually. "Would be easy if one went off by accident, you know…"

Elizabeth snickered. "Would be a shame", she commented.

 **.**

Maxine, who walked past them after tossing her own duffel onto a truck, had overheard part of their conversation and stopped. "You'd better not let anybody hear you talk like that", she told them, looking at the guilty parties.

"Oh come on, Max", Jessica argued, "like you haven't thought it, too."

She levelled her with a steely look and responded: "Thinking and speaking are two _very_ different things. Unless you come up with a way to change things, I'd advise you to keep your mouth shut." Giving them another glance, the Staff Sergeant walked away.

"She's right", Toye said, man of few words that he generally was.

Shifty offered: "Well…they must have put him in charge for a reason."

"Yeah 'cause the Army wouldn't make a mistake, right Shift?", Liebgott snarked.

As he said this, Sergeant Lipton passed them. He paused a few feet away and turned to look at them with a mixture of disappointment and concern. When he continued on his way, the group shared glances and dropped the subject.

* * *

Rumour had it that they would deploy to Europe and on the train, these speculations were one of the prime topics of conversation.

"If we jump into Berlin, Mia can be our guide", Skip joked from the neighbouring compartment.

The young woman rolled her eyes, but smiled. "I don't know the entire country, Skip", she explained, studying her cards.

Frances, who had instigated the game of Michigan, put down a card and wondered: "Do you miss it, though?" She looked at her friend, whose smile mellowed a little.

"Sometimes", Mia said with a shrug. "Not the country, but the people. You know, my friends, the neighbours, the lady from the bookstore…those things."

"You lived in Germany?", Liebgott asked, leaning over to add a card to the discard pile.

She paused, self-conscious with all the expectant gazes suddenly on her. "I grew up there", she then replied, aiming for casual but landing a bit closer to hesitant.

"You grew up in Germany?", Malarkey repeated, interest sparked. "How old were you when you came here?"

 **.**

Mia briefly glanced over to him before refocusing on the game. "I turned 14 on the ship", she answered. A grin flashed over her features and she proceeded to get rid of three cards, leaving her with only two in her hand.

"Ha!", Frances crowed, adding her last cards to the melds and runs on the table. "I win."

Louise cursed as she tallied up her points. "Jesus Christ, this is the fourth game you've won", she said, her grumble only half-serious.

"Want to play something else?", the North Carolina native asked, shuffling the well-loved deck of cards. "How about…how about Bullshit?"

"What, so you can win again all the time?", Louise retorted. It was a well-known fact that Frances had a gift for card games, though some suspected that it was more than just a gift.

 **.**

Muck and Penkala joined them for a few rounds of Bullshit, squashing themselves onto the ends of the seats.

"Fuck, how is this possible?!", Liebgott exclaimed when his bluff got called for the third time in a row.

Louise gave him a cheerful grin and deadpanned: "I have a low tolerance for bullshit."

He glared at her while everyone that had overheard it burst into laughter. The Brit sniper was infamous for her quick temper and had no qualms to confront anyone who thought they could take her for an idiot.

Frances put down a card. "Nine."

Mia called bullshit without even looking at her friend.

She smiled shrugged: "Well, if you're sure."

The half-German simply flipped the top card. "I am sure", she said, holding up a King.

"Oh well, can't blame a girl for trying", Frances quipped easily, gathering the cards and starting the game off again. "Two."

"Bullshit." Liebgott handed her back the card after showing them that it was in fact an Ace.

 **.**

"Ten"

"Jack"

"Queen"

"Bullshit"

"You wish!", Penkala laughed, turning the top card.

Skip dramatically turned his eyes heavenward. "Damnit." He gathered the cards. "Lord above!" He shook his head. "Penk, I think you were the only one _not_ cheating in this round!"

 **.**

It turned out that while Frances was indeed the queen of the game, Louise and Mia were both very skilled at it, too. Louise had a knack for reading people's faces and finding their tells and Mia was good at counting cards and remembering who had picked up what.

And the one who apparently couldn't bullshit his way out of a paper bag was Alex Penkala.


	11. Chapter 11 - SS Samaria (Pt I)

**Hey guys! Thank you so much for your feedback on the last chapter, I'm so happy that you liked it. I hope you enjoy this one just as much, though I apologise already for the rather abrupt ending. There just wasn't a better place to separate this chapter from the next...**

 **Anyways, enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think :)**

* * *

The train took them to New York where the rumours were confirmed. Easy Company was going to Europe. At the Brooklyn Naval Shipyard, they boarded a troop ship, the S.S. Samaria – along with about 5000 other soldiers.

It took an entire day, but eventually, the ship was loaded and left port in the evening. The setting sun broke into rough angles and sharp lines on the skyline of the city, dipping everything into a glow of oranges and reds.

"It's beautiful", Irene spoke in a soft whisper, as if any loud noise would destroy the magic of the natural spectacle.

Ana María, who stood right at the railing, gave a low hum of agreement.

 **.**

Slowly, they travelled past Liberty Island. A strange hush fell over the people on deck as the Statue of Liberty came into view, standing lone and proud in the bay, almost like a reminder of what they were setting off to fight for. Everyone knew that for many of them, this would be the last they would ever see of this country.

Nobody spoke. Thoughts travelled to family, friends and loved ones that were staying behind or to the future that was filled with danger and uncertainty.

* * *

While the officers had the privilege of being assigned cabins, the enlisted were all billeted in the huge belly of the ship. Rows and rows of bunks, two deep and at least five or six of them on top of each other, with only narrow passages between them. Still, there weren't enough bunks for the thousands of soldiers, meaning almost everyone had to double up. Many decided to take turns sleeping, others preferred just sleeping on the floor or in the hallways.

Easy had automatically arranged itself so that the women's bunks were right in the middle of the company's allocated space.

"I'm _not_ sleeping on any bunk higher than this one!", Helen declared with unrelenting finality, pointing at the bunk level with her head.

Jessica laughed and poking her head out from where she was lying on the fourth bunk from the bottom chirped down with feigned innocence: "Why not? The view is pretty neat up here."

"You know why!", the Arizonan shot back indignantly.

Elizabeth chuckled, but took pity on her friend. "C'mon", she offered, patting her cot. "You can share with me."

Helen nodded and smiled her thanks.

Catherine swiped some hair out of her face and blew out a breath. "Alright ladies, does everyone have a bunk?", she asked.

"Yeah, Mom!", half a dozen voices chorused with varying levels of amusement and annoyance in their tone.

 **.**

Kathleen didn't bother suppressing a soft groan she stumbled against the railing, the unpredictable rocking motion of the waves still catching her off-guard. She hadn't found her sea legs yet since it was her first time on any type of ship. Her stomach lurched upwards and some muscles in her chest seized. She retched, one hand tightly gripping the cool metal railing while the other tried to hold her hair out of her face.

A pair of hands appeared out of nowhere, rubbing her back and helping her keep her hair back as she threw up, the bile burning in her throat.

"Not used to ships, huh?", she heard Frances' friendly voice.

Her reply was more of a groan than anything else, but the meaning was still unmistakably clear.

The other woman chuckled, sympathy in her tone. "Yeah. The first time I was on a boat, I didn't feel too great either", she relayed. "But my Grampa would tell me to just go with the rhythm of the waves and take deep breaths."

"Ugh." Kathleen straightened after she was sure that her stomach wouldn't pitch a rebellion against her anytime soon.

Frances eyed her with a hint of concern. "Are you alright or d'you want me to fetch one of the medics?"

"No, no", the New Yorker said with a weak smile. "I'll be okay. They're busy enough."

With that many men getting seasick, the medics really had their hands full. They were passing out pills against motion sickness, tending to those that were up on deck getting some air or emptying their stomachs and periodically checking on those that tried to rest in their bunks.

"Okay", Frances conceded. "Let's get you back to your bunk."

"Nooo", Kathleen protested in a drawn-out moan, swaying when another wave she wasn't prepared for rocked the ship. "That's only gonna make it worse."

"It won't, I promise." Frances was already slinging her friend's arm over her shoulder, looping her own arm around the sick woman to steady her. "C'mon, just follow my lead."

* * *

Catherine was already getting fed up with being stuck amidst hundreds of unwashed bodies. The air was hot and stale, always filled with the noise of the ship, thousands of conversations and the creaks and squeaks of the bunks.

Having two children aged six and four, she was no stranger to noise and hurly-burly. She didn't mind it either, her kids were energetic and sometimes a bit rowdy, which was just fine with her. But at home, she'd always had the option to tell her two rascals to quiet down. Here she had no such authority.

The main thing that was setting her on edge was the lingering stares and leering gazes she and her fellow women received from some soldiers. They made her stomach churn with unease and the smirks made the hairs on the back of her neck rise up. And while she knew that the journey wouldn't last forever and that there would many more unpleasant and difficult circumstances to deal with, Catherine still wished for a little bit of quiet. And breathing room.

That was why she happily jumped down from her bunk when Theresa came up to her and discretely asked her to accompany her to the bathrooms. They were well-aware of the dangers a lone woman could encounter surrounded by so many bored and restless men.

Not that it was much of a problem since usually, they always had at least one of the guys from their company with them. The rational part of the women – Catherine included – knew that it was only for their safety and that they were simply looking out for them. But the stubborn, prideful part inside some of them chafed at it, feeling like they thought them to be too weak or incapable to protect herself. _I'm a goddamn paratrooper, I can hold my own,_ they thought, expressing those sentiments only in hushed whispers and only to their female comrades.

Thus, to retain some measure of dignity and independence, they accepted it when the guys accompanied them out of their own volition, but usually never asked them to do it. Instead, they went to each other for help when they wanted to go somewhere. And so far, their strategy had been quite successful.

 **.**

The hallway where the latrines and showers for the women were located was empty, not surprising because there weren't many women aboard the ship. Apart from the 24 paratroopers, they had seen a couple of Army Nurses, though those were all officers and therefore quartered in cabins.

Theresa pushed the door open and stepped in, Catherine following her.

"Hey Mia", she heard Theresa say and entered the room just as the voice of her fellow female medic returned the greeting in her usual soft-spoken way.

"Hi Mia", Catherine said, smiling at the younger woman, who was apparently in the process of washing something out of her OD shirt. "What happened there?", she asked.

A small half-smile curved the half-German's lips as she rubbed the wet fabric between her hands. "Webster was sick", she explained with a shrug, no trace of annoyance or disgust on her features.

"Did he hit you full-on?", Theresa's voice came from the locked stall, the teasing smile audible in her tone.

Mia chuckled quietly and shook her head. "No, he just…um" – her eyebrows creased as she searched for the proper expression – "scraped me?"

"Grazed you", Catherine supplied easily.

"Grazed me", she repeated with a grateful glance. "I just wanted to get it out of the clothes asap."

The toilet flushed and Theresa emerged from the stall, washing her hands at the other sink. Feeling a little keyed up and goofy, she flicked her fingers towards her friends, splashing them with water. They laughed, Mia retaliating with a flick of her own wet hands.

"Alright, kids, that's enough playing with water", Catherine said in her 'Mom voice', the effect utterly ruined by her own giggles, "let's go back to being responsible adults."

Mia snickered and wrung out her now clean, but still soaked-through OD shirt. "You know more about that than I, Mom", she acknowledged good-naturedly.

"Or me", Theresa agreed with an unabashed grin.


	12. Chapter 12 - SS Samaria (Pt II)

**Hello guys! Thank you very much for your amazing responses to the last chapter. I'm so happy you liked it.**

 **Warning: This chapter deals with attempted sexual assault (nothing graphic) and a fight. So, if this upsets you or is a sensitive topic for you, please please proceed with caution!**

* * *

They didn't get too far. Just as they wanted to turn a corner, they found their way blocked. The soldier wasn't anyone they knew and judging by the strange curl of his lips, all three of them were inclined to keep it that way.

"Well…", the corporal drawled, pushing off the wall and flicking his eyes over them. "Whaddaya say to that, Rawlins?"

Another unfamiliar soldier, apparently Cpl Rawlins, came to stand beside his comrade.

Theresa narrowed her eyes. Catherine tensed. Mia backed up a half-step.

"Huh", Rawlins made, his mildly impressed expression just as disconcerting as the weird gleam in the other man's eyes. "Not bad, Steele", he said with a slow nod. "Not bad at all."

Catherine rolled her eyes and ordered: "Let us pass", pretending not to notice the other two men that were now standing behind them. Mia had turned to keep an eye on them.

Steele's lips parted into a grimace that was more leer than smile. "Nah", he said with a lazy shake of his head. "Where'd the fun in that be?"

Theresa let out a squeak of shock when she was suddenly grabbed from behind. She heard Mia gasp followed by a thump that sounded like a body being shoved into the wall.

"Hey!", Catherine called, outrage and frustration covering a vague note of fear.

 **.**

Struggling against the hands trapping her, Theresa saw her friends in much the same situation as her: Pinned against the wall by one of Steele's accomplices, her expression a very specific blend of angry and scared.

Disgust twisted in her stomach as the hands began to roam across her body. "What do you think you're doing?!", she heard herself demand. She didn't catch the reply – if there even was one – because the paralysing feeling of horror that had her heart pulsing in her throat turned into undiluted revulsion as the man groped her breasts.

All the lessons of unarmed combat she'd had rushed to the fore, instincts taking the reins and commanding her muscles to move. A loud thwack and a shrill yowl told her that her friends were fighting back as well.

What followed was sheer pandemonium. In the confines of a narrow hallway, fending off one 6-foot-tall soldier in battle-ready condition wasn't easy and fending off four of them made it all the more difficult. But that didn't stop the three women from fighting tooth and nail.

 **.**

The regular sounds of a scuffle filled Catherine's ears, flesh hitting flesh, clothes rustling, boots stumbling, breaths panting. They were accentuated by grunts and groans, yelps and gasps. She tried to keep an eye on the other two women, but it was nigh-impossible in the chaos. She only caught a glimpse of Theresa kicking her attacker in the shins before her attention was drawn back to her own predicament as Rawlins came at her, features contorted into a vicious snarl.

"Oi! Get the fuck out of here, you bastards!", a very familiar voice shouted over the din, just as Mia got slammed into the wall for the fourth time. Or was it the fifth? She had lost track. She ducked as another fist came swinging towards her.

One of Mia's assailants – Steele had been joined by one of his buddies in trying to subdue her enough for something she didn't let herself think about – was yanked backwards. He didn't have time to do more than blink in surprise before he got clocked so soundly that his ears started ringing. His head spun and he dropped to his knees.

Easy's very own Louise Fields marched past the incapacitated soldier, jaw clenched and pure murder on her face. "You disgraceful, vile, perverted, impulse-driven troglodytes!" She shoved one guy back, noting with no small amount of satisfaction how the man, who had been beleaguering Theresa, wilted like a daisy when it dawned on him that the odds were no longer in his and his buddies' favour.

Theresa staggered out of harm's way, leaning against the wall and trying not to retch. Catherine, who had used Rawlins' temporary distraction to her advantage, hurried over and wrapped an arm around her friend's quaking shoulders.

* * *

A high-pitched whimper and a choked grunt marked the end of the melee as Steele and Rawlins both sank to their knees, hands firmly clutched over their private parts. Realising that his pals were all on the ground, two of them writhing in absolute agony, the last guy standing hastily scurried out of the way as Louise breezed past him.

Not liking the pallid expression of shock setting in on Theresa's face, Catherine tightened her hold on the Nebraskan and urged: "Let's get out of here."

Nobody disagreed and as quickly as they could, the four women headed down to Easy's allocated bunk area.

Patience worn thin by her own terror and concern for Theresa, whose breaths came out in shaky, too fast half-sobs, the ranking medic found herself unceremoniously pushing through the packed room. All the while, she kept up a steady stream of soothing nonsense for Theresa. The young woman was on the verge of a panic attack, flinching away from every shadow, jumping at every loud noise and frantically looking around her.

"Where's Mia?", she kept asking, wide eyes with blown pupils swivelling to Catherine before scanning the crowd once more. "Where are they?"

"They'll be here soon", the mother of two kept replying. "Louise is with her, they are behind us."

 **.**

Their arrival didn't go unnoticed, but Catherine ignored all the shocked exclamations and worried questions in favour of getting Theresa to sit down on the nearest empty bunk, which happened to be Ana María's. The Puerto Rican wasn't in sight and even if she had been there, the ranking medic very much doubted that she'd have had any objections.

"There we go, Reese", Catherine said, helping her friend sit down. "Now, can you try and take some deep breaths for me?"

Theresa hiccoughed, the sobs barely getting past her closed-up throat. "Where's Mia?", she repeated.

"What's going on?" "Who did that?" "What the hell happened?" The shouts and clamours for an explanation got louder and louder, the men crowding around the bunk in concerned curiosity. Unfortunately, that only served to increase Theresa's distress and if Catherine was honest with herself, it made her more uncomfortable, too.

Once again, Louise saved the day.

She easily garnered everyone's attention by planting herself in front of the bunk that held the two women, furious scowl still in place. Arms akimbo, she raised her voice to be heard over the din and hollered: "Everybody shut up and move back! Bloody hell, can't you see you're making it worse?!"

 **.**

A spark of relief ignited in Theresa's chest at the sight of the British sniper, but it was quickly drowned when panic welled up once more. _Mia isn't with her! Where is she?_ She tried to spot the young medic, but to no avail. _Is that her shirt in Louise's hand?_ By now, tears were streaming down her face, but she still couldn't catch her breath. Her chest felt like it was being squashed between large clamps and something was lodged in her throat.

"Breathe, Reese, breathe", Catherine coached, encouraging her to lean forward and put her head between her knees. Her hand was rubbing circles on Theresa's back. Between her sobs, she could once again make out the name of her fellow female medic. "Mia's gonna be here soon, don't you worry." _Where are you, Mia?_

As the frenzy around them settled down, Catherine felt herself relax a little. She could understand the reactions from the rest of the company. After all, if it had been somebody else bursting in, clearly terrified and a little banged up, she would be itching to know what happened, too.

Just as Theresa asked for the missing half-German again, the woman in question squeezed past a worriedly hovering Dukeman and dropped to her knees before the bunk. "I'm here, Reese, I'm here", she said, her small hand resting on Theresa's knee. "You're safe."

* * *

Meanwhile, Louise had managed to get everyone else to give the three women some privacy, with the capable help of Maxine and Lipton.

"Go and get some chow, boys", Maxine suggested, her order clear despite her smile and friendly tone.

Lipton, bless his heart, quickly shooed them off, keeping a close eye on the hotheads that seemed quite ready to protest. "Give them some space", he said. "They've been crowded by men enough already."

That had the desired effect.

Righteous anger blended with horrified realisation and sheepish guilt as even the brashest of the company visibly reined in their tempers. Theresa's tear-streaked face and Catherine's tense form were bad enough to see; none of them wanted to add to their friends' distress. The NCOs quickly took charge and herded everybody out and towards the galley for dinner.

Liebgott shot Louise a questioning look as he left.

"Later", the sniper mouthed, catching his nod before Maxine lightly grabbed her by the elbow to get her attention.

"Are you alright?", the Staff Sergeant asked.

Louise blew out an aggravated breath and dragged a hand through her hair. "No", she ground out, lips pressed in a thin line as she watched Theresa, nice, loveable Theresa, huddled on the bunk, pale as a ghost and shaking like a leaf. "I am absolutely pissed. If I see one of those pieces of shit again, they'd better be hoping that I'm unarmed or that somebody's there to stop me 'cause otherwise, they won't be breathing for long."

Maxine didn't bat an eye at her friend's threat. Not that she thought it was an idle one, but she knew Louise. The Brit had an impressive temper and was infamous for her colourful language when venting her anger and voicing her displeasure, but she wasn't stupid and she wasn't reckless. As a sniper, she had to have a vast amount of patience and restraint. She might be very vocal about her opinion, but she didn't go off half-cocked.

* * *

Catherine decided that she needed some air. Exchanging a few words with Mia, the ranking medic shimmied out of the bunk, her younger colleague taking her spot.

"I need some air", she explained to Lipton, who gave her an understanding smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"Are you alright?", he questioned, his voice holding just as much concern as his gaze.

The mother of two considered for a moment before offering her reply. "Not right now, but I will be." Turning to Louise and Maxine, she requested: "Will you go with me? I need some fresh air."

The two women agreed without hesitation, Maxine adding that she was already looking forward to getting off the ship and out of these claustrophobic quarters.

Mia watched them go before returning her attention to her patient. Theresa was calming down now, her breaths slowing and evening out. Tears were still trailing down her cheeks, but she was no longer choking on her sobs. Her posture was tense, but the shaking was ebbing.

 **.**

Lipton approached, his footsteps clearly audible in the comparably quiet room. Mia's eyes came up to meet his, sadness and worry rippling in them.

"Can you make sure that nobody kills somebody over dinner?", she asked, gaze shifting away again. "I don't want them to get in trouble."

He had to chuckle at the wording of her request. "You got it, Mia", he said with a small smile before the concerned frown returned to his features. "Are you sure you'll be okay down here?"

The young medic gave him a reassuring smile. "Yes sir. We can move to a higher bunk that would be easier to defend."

Lipton nodded. "What about food?", he then asked.

"I'm not hungry", Mia replied, confirming his hunch. "And I'm sure that Catherine will make certain that we get something to eat."

He couldn't disagree with that statement. After all, the ranking medic didn't have the moniker 'Mom' for no reason. "Okay", he relented. "Look after yourselves, alright?"

"Yes sir."


	13. Chapter 13 - SS Samaria (Pt III)

**Hello everyone! Sorry for not updating yesterday. I was so absorbed in summarising the lectures on French grammar I have this semester that I completely forgot about everything else. And then my internet crashed, so...**

 **Anyways, as always, thank you so much to all of you who take the time to read my story and even leave me a review. You are awesome and never fail to make me smile!**

* * *

The rumour mill was working overtime already, speculations buzzing in the air as Easy company had dinner in the galley. Despite not knowing any details, it hadn't taken the men and women long to figure out what had happened. Catherine, who was feeling a lot better after spending a bit of time up on deck, quietly filled in the senior NCOs. Maxine and Louise helped her by informing the rest of the women and their closest friends among the guys.

Their reactions ranged from pure, unbridled rage to shock, concern and sympathy.

 **.**

"Where's Theresa and Mia?", Jessica wanted to know, craning her neck to try and see if she could spot them.

"Down below", Maxine answered. "Theresa is pretty shaken and Mia stayed with her."

Talbert frowned. "Shouldn't somebody be with them? Just in case?", he questioned, plucking at his lip in thought.

She acknowledged his doubts, but dispelled them with a shake of her head. "Lipton said it's fine."

Elizabeth piped up: "Yeah, they'll be okay. Mia's really good at staying out of sight anyways."

A few tables further down, Catherine was sat snuggly between Bull and Johnny Martin, eternally grateful to the guys for striking up a conversation that had nothing to do with the incident. She smiled when Popeye asked about her kids and happily launched into telling a few stories about her little rascals, which had the men either cooing and awing or in stitches.

 **.**

Meanwhile, Louise was standing in line for her own portion of whatever the kitchen served that day. _Fish stew. Again. Joy._ She grabbed her tray and moved down the rows of tables to plop herself down in a seat across from Liebgott. Reaching for her spoon, she paused and her eyes narrowed.

"Why is your cheek bruising?", she questioned.

"He was in a fight", Alley helpfully pointed out, cheerfully ignoring the glare he got from his friend.

The sniper sighed and muttered "What is it with today and fights?" before demanding a more detailed explanation.

"Guarnere called Sobel a Jew", Joe said with a scowl.

Louise heaved another sigh. "And you took offense to that", she finished. Understandable. Nobody liked to be compared to Sobel like that and having one's religion or culture insulted this way wasn't something to just brush off.

Bill, who was sitting only a few seats away from them, leant forward and called over: "But we settled the matter!" He was sporting the beginnings of a bruise on his jaw.

Liebgott nodded his agreement. "Yeah. Especially since we got bigger fish to fry."

"Damn right", Bill confirmed. "No-one messes with our girls."

Her expression darkened, the seething anger inside her rising to the surface again. "Those bastards. Fucking cowards", she grumbled. "Hope their crown jewels fall off."

 **.**

Several puzzled looks flew her way at the specificity of the comment and a few eyebrows rose in question. Louise swallowed the last mouthful of her meal before she elaborated. "Mia and Catherine ended the fight by kicking two of them where it hurts most."

There were a few winces across the table, but nobody could really dredge up any sympathy for the lowlifes that had attacked their friends for no good reason.

"Arricante? Doc Arricante kicked one of these assholes in the balls?", Liebgott asked in surprise, newfound respect in his tone. After all, the young medic wasn't exactly somebody he had pegged as a ruthless fighter.

The British woman rolled her eyes and groaned: "Oh you pelican, is there anything between your ears? Yes, she did!

Bill looked just as impressed as the other guys. "Didn't know she had guts like that", he allowed with an appraising nod.

Louise snorted. "It's not like you know much about her", she remarked dryly. "You should try talking to her."

* * *

Below deck, Theresa was finally calm again. Just like Mia had promised, they had moved one bunk higher, incidentally to the one Theresa shared with Irene. She was lying on her back and telling her friend about Scottsbluff, her hometown.

Mia listened with her usual quiet attentiveness, only asking a question here and there. Her back was leaning against the metal frame of the six-storey bunkbed construction, forearms resting comfortably on her knees.

 **.**

"I was so scared."

The medic blinked, the sudden change in tone and topic catching her by surprise. Turning her head, she gave Theresa a sympathetic smile and offered: "I know."

"Were you scared, too?", she asked.

Mia nodded, gaze focusing on a point between her arms, just below her kneecaps. "Yes", she confirmed softly.

Theresa rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "I wish I could be as strong as you. You're always so calm."

That drew a quiet scoff from the younger woman, humour dancing in the sound. "Don't be so sure of that", she said.

The Nebraskan smiled and gave her a friendly nudge. "Well", she replied pensively, "then you're really good at hiding your fear because I've never seen you even a little bit scared."

Mia chuckled, making a grin stretch on her friend's lips. After staying silent for an almost uncomfortably long moment, she offered: "It's something my sister Letizia taught me when I first arrived in America."

Theresa's interest piqued. Mia was a fairly private person, so personal information and stories that she offered voluntarily were few and far between. She shifted, hoping to hear more.

 **.**

"It…" Mia paused, trying to put her thoughts into words. "It was scary. I was in a new country and I didn't know anybody except my family. I didn't speak English so well and I didn't want people to laugh at me, you know?"

Glancing over to Theresa, she caught her nod, noting the understanding look on her face. Taking a breath, she continued: "Well, one night, I talked to Letizia about it and she told me that it's okay to be scared and upset. 'Just don't let those who made you feel that way see it', she said. 'Don't let them see that you're hurting because then they win.'"

Silence descended again. For a moment, the two women held each other's gaze before the half-German blinked and looked away.

"Your sister is very smart", Theresa said, smiling when Mia's eyes flashed back over to her.

A hesitant smile bloomed on her features and she nodded. "She is", she agreed. "Almost as smart as Maxine and Kathleen."

Lost in their own thoughts, the two women were content to just stay in quiet company, each reassured by the presence of the other. Mia's gaze grew distant as she reminisced on memories of her family, the corners of her mouth quirked up in a faint, subconscious smile. Theresa used the opportunity to study her, mind going over what little she knew about the younger woman, examining every little bit of information like pieces of a gigantic, intricate and complex puzzle.

* * *

When Easy returned from the galley, they found their youngest medic watching over a sleeping Theresa. Anger rose again in their chests at the sight of the bruises that were beginning to form on their faces and the red, handprint-shaped marks on Mia's upper arms. But they kept themselves in check, knowing at least five people who would give them hell for aggravating the entire situation by blowing their lids.

Frances swung herself up to sit on the edge of the bunk and pulled a napkin-wrapped bundle from underneath her uniform jacket. "Here", she said with an easy smile. "Didn't want you to go hungry." She pulled away the edges of the napkin to reveal several slices of bread and some dried meat.

Mia gave her a small, tired smile. "I'm not hungry, but I'm sure that Theresa will be thankful."

A crease of worry appeared between Frances' eyebrows and she asked: "Are you alright?"

Her friend shrugged.

"Maybe you should get some rest, too", she suggested, trying to think of what Catherine or Maxine would say. They were so good with words. "You look a bit tired."

Mia let out a small sigh and nodded. "Yeah", she muttered, "I guess the adrenaline is gone."

Although not a very tactile person, she accepted the big hug Frances enveloped her in. Now that the immediate danger had passed and calm had returned, the fear and disgust, the hated powerlessness started sinking in.

Mumbling a thanks, she jumped down, intending to find herself a sequestered spot where she could have a breakdown in peace – or, at least, where she could have a chance to process the events of the day.

* * *

An hour later, Maxine came back to their bunk area after having informed Lieutenants Winters and Nixon of the incident. They had agreed to keep it quiet since none of the women involved wished to make a big deal out of it. But if the guilty parties happened to sport a few more bruises, nobody would mention it.

"Ana María", she asked quietly, "are they well looked-after?"

The diminutive Puerto Rican nodded. "Yeah, they're doing okay. Reese is with Jess and Helen. Louise is up on deck with Frances, Malarkey, Muck and Penkala. Catherine is over there with the other medics. And Mia…last I saw, Luz had dragged her off to play cards with him, Toye and a few others."

The Staff Sergeant thanked her and made her way down the bunk rows. Maxine knew that she had jokingly been dubbed "Mom No. 2" and she wore that title as a badge of honour. Spotting Guarnere, she briefly detoured to talk to him.

"What can I do for you, Max?", he asked in his broad Philly drawl.

 **.**

She had to smile at that. Although notoriously brash and occasionally one to speak before he thought, Bill wasn't one to mince words. He got straight to the point and was as steadfastly loyal and sincere as they come.

"Can you make sure nobody gets any stupid ideas like going after the guys that attacked the three?", she said. "I get that you're all angry on their behalf, but they don't want you to get in trouble."

While Guarnere looked displeased and vaguely mutinous first, it faded towards the end. "Sure", he offered with a nod. "You got it, Max." His smile sharpened and he added: "But I ain't saying nothin' if they end up with some bumps and bruises. Lot of people on this ship, accidents happen."

Maxine nodded. "I know. Cooped up like this, there's bound to be some scuffles", she replied casually. She knew full well that he would get the message: 'Don't take it too far and don't get caught.'

Satisfied that there wouldn't be a problem there, she continued, taking note of her fellow women as she went.

Kathleen was in an animated discussion with Smith, the two in an excellent mood as they laughed together. A few bunks down and across, Irene and Elizabeth were engaged in a game of dominos, seemingly in their own bubble of quiet serenity.

 **.**

Reaching her intended destination, Maxine had no trouble locating the bunk Ana María had indicated.

Luz' dark-haired head came up, pair of perpetually smiling eyes landing on her, and he greeted cheerfully in a put-on posh accent. "Well hello Lady Lloyd, what brings you to our humble abode on this fine day?"

"Hello to you, too, Luz", she laughed, smiling at Toye, who had also looked up from his cards. "I just stopped by to see how everyone is."

Joe's jaw tightened momentarily and George's bright grin shrank into a softer, sadder version as their gazes flickered over to the small figure behind them.

Mia lay curled up, her back facing the grey metal wall of the ship. She had her eyes closed, but Maxine wasn't entirely sure how deep her sleep was. Her knuckles were scraped and split, but overall, she seemed to have escaped with very few bruises apart from those on her wrists and upper arms where big, unsympathetic hands had grabbed her.

It was Toye who broke the sombre spell that had fallen over them. "We're okay", he said, voice quiet but steady. "Mia will be, too."

Luz nodded, steel entering his smile. "We'll make sure of it", he promised.

Maxine patted him on the shoulder and offered: "I have no doubt of that." With that, she took her leave, snaking her way through a group of mingling soldier and climbing up to her bunk. Leaning back until cold steel braced her back, she blew out a long breath, swiping some sweaty strands out of her eyes. _What a day. I can't wait until we reach port._

* * *

The days crawled by as the large troop ship travelled across the Atlantic on a zig-zag course to evade German submarines. The soldiers were itching to get off the ship, the restricted living space and boredom making them restless.

Easy was especially tense. The attack on three of their own had been a stark wake-up call, reminding them that not everyone respected the women as their equals. Easy's men silently – and sometimes expressly – agreed to stay close to their female comrades, for everybody's peace of mind.

 **.**

It took a while, but slowly, the subconscious flinches, the brief tensing of muscles under an unexpected touch, the air of unease in a tight crowd disappeared again. Catherine, Mia and Theresa's bruises turned ugly shades of black, blue and green, making anger well up in their friends' hearts, but the marks faded and the three returned to their normal selves.

And if they happened to be sitting at the far back of the truck that took them to their new accommodation when they finally reached England on September 17, surrounded by a bunch of protective men and women, well… it might have just been a coincidence.

And even if it wasn't, they weren't complaining.


	14. Chapter 14 - Aldbourne

**Hello guys and welcome to another chapter! As always thank you very much for your reviews and continued support, I really appreciate it.**

 **Gosh, I can't wait for the holidays so I can focus more on writing instead of having my brain clattered up by all the projects and deadlines and drama etc etc. Well, my Christmas holidays are actually two weeks of exam prep, but since I have only two exams this time round, I'll have a lot of time for writing :)**

 **Initially, this chapter was split in two, but I realised those would be two very short chapters, so I combined them. Hope you don't mind :) Just in case you were wondering, the other chapter would have been titled "Fences and Majors and Cows, oh my!".**

* * *

Aldbourne was a quaint little town, a picturesque piece of paradise in the midst of war. It was absurd and also a bit sad, really, that the green fields and gently rolling hills were now the showplace of military drills and realism training. Orienteering, field exercises, tactics and platoon manoeuvres, the list was never-ending. The soldiers had also been made aware of local customs and that they were to behave accordingly.

Command had briefly considered billeting the women in host families to avoid scandalising the vocals, but that had been met with such fervent opposition that they ultimately let them stay in the enlisted personnel's barracks.

Irene smiled to herself as she thought back to their first day off the ship, when a group of them had marched into Sink's office to protest the plan. From Easy, it had been her, Maxine and Ana María. From Dog, Esther Bowman had joined them, along with Audrey Maynard and Cassandra Jessup from Fox Company.

Between the six of them, it hadn't taken them long to convince the colonel that separating them from their companies would only do harm. Being raised in the upper class, Maxine had a sense for politics. Esther Bowman's father was a lawyer and Cassandra Jessup was simply a wily character who had the most impressive talent to turn people's words against them when it suited her.

 **.**

"Colonel, with all due respect, how are we supposed to integrate ourselves in our companies and be seen as equals by the men if we are constantly given preferential treatment?", Audrey had questioned eventually, the rest of them nodding in support.

The 506's commander had had to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, equal parts exasperated and proud. Exasperated because each and every argument he offered was shot down with elegant determination and proud for exactly the same thing.

These women had spines of steel and were not to be trifled with. Eloquent, infallibly polite and absolutely unrelenting, they stood up for themselves and their sisters-in-arms. It was something that the Army – and he himself, he had to admit – never would have imagined when the women soldiers' experiment had been initiated.

Sink had regarded the six women before him with a collected gaze. "Well", he had said, allowing a small smile to cross his features, "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't damned impressed by your courage and your loyalty to your comrades and companies. You have made a very good point and were very convincing."

They had all waited with baited breath, trying to keep their expressions as neutral and blank as possible while inside, they were dancing with triumph.

"You'll be billeted in the barracks", he had then decided, giving them an approving nod. They had saluted with happy smiles on their faces.

 **.**

Irene continued to let her thoughts roam as she cleaned and shone her boots. After the last night march, they were caked with mud, dust clinging to the leather from sole to rim. She flicked away a piece of dried dirt that she had pried out of the profile of her sole, watching it fly through the air and land on the ground.

The barracks were mostly empty this time of night. A few of them were on guard duty, but basically everyone else was at the pub. Irene had begged off, she was tired and she was also rostered on for the last watch of the night. She wasn't keen on falling asleep on duty, thank you very much.

The door opened to let in Albert Blithe, a quiet, slightly shy and dreamy private from First Platoon, and James Roberts, an outstandingly polite young fellow who'd had a very strict upbringing.

"Oh", Roberts made when he realised the barrack wasn't entirely deserted. "Sorry Ma'am, we didn't mean to interrupt."

She shook her head, waving his apology away with an uncoordinated shrug. "It's alright, Roberts, you're not interrupting."

Watching as Blithe slumped onto his bunk, blowing out a deep sigh and setting about unlacing his boots, she asked: "Did you just finish watch?"

Blithe nodded. "Yes Ma'am", he answered through a yawn, his cheeks quickly reddening with embarrassment.

"Well, then get some rest, reveille will come soon enough." Irene smiled and returned her attention to her still-dirty boot while the two tired men got ready for bed.

* * *

Out of all the training they received, many struggled with bayonet training. Just the thought of having to shove a blade into another person's body was enough to make them uncomfortable.

"God, I don't know if I can do this", Elizabeth admitted over lunch, shoulders sagging and a look of guilt on her face.

Jessica raised an eyebrow in question as she had her mouth full with food.

"Stick a bayonet into a man", the Reno native answered the unvoiced question.

Kathleen, with her usual sense of tact, pointed out: "Don't worry, you won't have time to doubt yourself when it's either kill or be killed."

 **.**

Letting out a short huff of exasperation, Louise kicked her in the shin under the table.

"Ouch", the New Yorker yelped, looking startled and affronted.

The sniper ignored it, instead shooting her an angry stare. "Bloody hell, Kathleen", she groaned, "you're about as considerate as a battering ram!"

She sputtered indignantly, but fell silent under the weight of her friends' looks.

Jessica turned to Elizabeth and said: "If it makes you feel any better, I don't like it either. It feels a lot more up-close and personal than shooting."

She shrugged, uncharacteristically solemn as she pushed her food around on her plate.

"I mostly tell myself that it's only as a last resort", Kathleen commented, an apology in her tone and mien. "We learn this so it's instinctive if we find ourselves in such a situation."

* * *

The thing that weighed most heavily on everybody's mind, however, was Sobel. He continued to be a terrible leader, messing up manoeuvres, yelling and shouting at them for just about anything and just generally doing a fantastic job in getting Easy to loathe him more with each day.

Helen considered herself a fairly patient person who got along with almost anyone. But now, crouching in an open, rain-logged field, she had to consciously relax her grip on her rifle as she watched Sobel become flustered when the realisation hit that he had fucked up. A sardonic smile threatened to push to the surface of her mien at the sight of Tipper rolling his eyes when the CO couldn't see it, but overall, she was just fed up with the baffling incompetence of the man.

"Tipper!", Sobel called, either missing or ignoring the fact that the man was standing right next to him.

To his credit, Tipper managed not to let on what he was thinking when he replied: "Yes sir?"

"Give me the map." He paused, then realised that the men were still very much out in the open and ordered: "Perconte, Luz, get the men...get- take cover behind those trees."

When they were a sufficient distance away from Sobel, Evans and Tipper – poor Tipper, left alone between Mister Incompetent and Teacher's Pet No. 1 – the guys had no inhibition about giving voice to their feelings.

"Sobel's lost again, isn't he?", Skinny asked.

Elizabeth snorted. "When isn't he?", she questioned with a disgusted shake of her head.

Perconte rolled his eyes and grumbled: "Yeah, he's lost."

While their not-so-esteemed leader fumbled with the map and displayed his non-existent sense of direction, Helen took another deep breath. Sidelong glances and long-suffering looks were flying back and forth in the platoon, the entire group connected in their disbelief and frustration.

 **.**

Suddenly, however, Helen's attention was yanked away from the scene in front of her when a very familiar southern drawl asked: "Does a wild bear crap in the woods, son?"

She nearly got herself whiplash from turning her head so fast and just caught the tail end of Perconte's suggestion: "...major can goose this schmuck; get us moving?"

On Luz' face, hesitation and conscience were warring with glee. "No, no way", he repelled, "I'm not gonna..."

"Oh yeah!", Skip jumped in, wicked glint in his eyes. "Luz, you gotta! C'mon!"

The opportunity to finally put one over Sobel won out against any reservations Luz might have had. "Alright", he gave in, "but just this once." He shushed them as he prepared to once more adopt the voice of Major Horton.

Helen would never forget the look of sheer panic that crossed Sobel's face when Major Horton's voice called: "Is there a problem, Captain Sobel?" Nor the grin Tipper fought down while Evans and Sobel had their backs turned.

"Who said that?", Sobel shouted. "Who broke silence?!"

Whatever Tipper told him made Sobel's expression rapidly change from anger back to terror and he looked around himself.

Helen made a mental note to congratulate Tipper on doing such an outstanding job. He had been made Sobel's runner back in Camp Mackall and ever since then, their commanding officer had managed to "mislay" nearly any item when he most needed it.

 **.**

Luz, the conniving rascal, decided to up the ante.

"What is the _goddamn_ hold up, Mister Sobel?", he – or rather Major Horton – demanded.

Helen slapped a gloved hand in front of her mouth so she wouldn't burst out into a fit of giggles. This was the most fun she'd ever had on a platoon exercise.

"A fence, sir!", Sobel hollered back, fidgeting uncomfortably. "A...a barbed-wire fence, sir!"

Well, if nothing else, at least his eyes were working, she mused with a stifled laugh.

"Oh, that dog just ain't gonna hunt!", Luz yelled cynically, mimicking the unimpressed variety of the major's accent with unerring accuracy.

The guys were just barely holding it together, shaking from the effort of restraining their laughter to quiet snickers and wheezes.

Helen's sides were starting to hurt from trying to stay quiet. Tears were already leaking from the corners of her eyes. This would go down in history as the greatest of Luz' legendary officer imitations.

"Shut it, sh", the radioman whispered before effortlessly changing accents and bellowing: "Now you cut that fence and get this _goddamn_ platoon on the move!"

 **.**

After crossing the fence, the platoon continued towards their objective.

Because they had wasted so much time traipsing all over God's green Earth with their directionally challenged leader, they now had to double-time along the road to ensure that they completed the exercise still within the time limit. At least, the enlisted were in very good spirits on the way. They continued to choke back peals of laughter and hastily wipe gleeful smirks off their faces whenever Sobel or Evans looked their way – which thankfully wasn't too often.

Helen had fallen in next to Theresa and they exchanged telling glances before they were forced to look away lest they dissolve into an uncontrollable laughing fit.

"This is one for the history books", Helen whispered, voice shaking with barely suppressed giggles.

Theresa only just managed to hold back the laugh that wanted to burst out of her. It came out as a whickering whimper.

"God", she whispered back, one hand pressed against her side, "this is torture. Everything's so much funnier when you're not allowed to laugh."

* * *

Frances was on her way to the barn that served as the enlisted men's mess hall when she suddenly found her path blocked. She stopped in her tracks, blinking in bewilderment at the pair of large brown eyes goggling at her.

"Um...hi", she uttered, taking a step back.

Unsurprisingly, the cow didn't reply.

A closer look revealed that there were indeed several cows grazing in front of HQ, destroying the neatly kept lawn with their hooves and simply being in the way, creating a fair amount of disruption. A few soldiers were trying and failing to herd the placid cattle away from the lawn.

Looking around her, Frances spotted Helen casually leaning against a fence post across the road, a big smirk on her face. Walking around the cow, who had long since refocused its attention to the grass at the side of the road, she joined her friend, mirroring her stance.

"So", she said, slanting her a look. "Cows."

Helen grinned and nodded. "Cows."

"Any idea why they're here?"

"Oh, Major Horton ordered Sobel to cut a fence that was hindering our platoon's advance", was Helen's reply, delivered with a nonchalant shrug.

Frances' eyebrows rose towards her hairline before settling. A smile stretched her lips. "Major Horton, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Mhm."

They watched with a great amount of amusement as some soldiers struggled to contain the wandering cows while others were slowly despairing of the grazing cattle that just wouldn't budge.

"Didn't you grow up on a farm?", Frances asked eventually, not taking her eyes of the entertaining scene before them.

"Yes."

"Don't you want to offer them some advice? On how to handle cows?"

Helen snorted a laugh and shook her head. "Nah", she said. "This is much more fun."

"Thought so", the other woman agreed with a nod.


	15. Chapter 15 - Mutiny

**Hello everyone. Sorry for not updating yesterday, it was just one weird day... The morning was okay, but the rest of the day was crazy and busy and I only really came home shortly before midnight...**

 **Anyways. Thank you for your lovely reviews, you guys are awesome! I hope you enjoy this albeit short chapter and I wish you all happy holidays or simply a wonderful time!**

* * *

Unfortunately, Sobel went and tried to court-martial Lt. Winters the next day on a bogus charge for dereliction of duty or some such bullshit. Everyone, including the officers, knew that it was just Sobel trying to cow Winters into submission after having been thoroughly humiliated by the man when he and his platoon took the objective on their own.

Winters, knowing that the captain had nothing concrete against him in hand, called his bluff and requested trial by court-martial. It was dangerous though and put the whole company on edge because while Strayer figured out the procedures of the court-martial, he had reassigned the only trustworthy and capable platoon leader to Battalion Mess.

The NCOs were of course most unhappy about this turn of events. With Winters gone, they were the last line of defence that stood between Sobel and the rest of the men. It took less than a day before there were rumblings in the company that the non-coms were in cahoots over trying to find a way to get the red-headed lieutenant back.

 **.**

"Catherine!"

On her way to the mess hall, the Hawaiian stopped and turned, waiting for Mia to catch up to her. "What is it?", she asked, not missing the troubled tension that clung to her friend. "Are you alright?"

Mia took a breath, bracing herself for what would surely not be an easy conversation. She had mulled it over and over in her head and eventually, she'd decided to just get straight to the point.

"Don't turn in your stripes", she blurted out. _There. Like ripping off a plaster._

The ranking medic blinked in surprise before a frown settled on her features. "What?", she questioned. "Almost all NCOs - apart from probably Evans - are doing it. Why wouldn't I?"

Her colleague looked at her and replied evenly: "Because you have kids. If this doesn't work, you will all be shot."

Catherine's eyes flashed. "I'm aware of the consequences, thank you very much." She reigned in her indignation, after all, the younger woman meant well. So, she tried to explain herself. "But I can't just stand there and do nothing. If I die, at least I'll die doing what's right."

 **.**

Mia studied her, her searching gaze unnerving her a little. Eventually, she sighed, eyes dropping to the muddy ground beneath their feet. "You won't change your mind", she said softly.

"No", Catherine confirmed even though it hadn't been a question. She reached out and squeezed her friend's shoulder, waiting until she met her eyes.

"It's gonna be okay. Sink would be mad if he ordered us all shot", she reasoned. "This close to the invasion, he won't want to lose an entire company's worth of non-coms." Or risk a potential political disaster by having a third of Easy's female members court-martialled and shot.

A weak half-smile twitched on Mia's lips and she nodded. "I hope you're right."

"Me too, Mia. Me too."

Patting her on the shoulder and giving her a smile that she hoped was confident, Catherine continued on her way, heading towards the mess hall where she and the other NCOs would put their plan of mutiny into action.

* * *

The fallout was comparatively mild. Sink shouted at them, telling them plainly that he ought to have them all shot, but that they should consider themselves lucky since they were "on the eve of the largest action in military warfare", which left him no choice but to spare their lives.

Which didn't mean that they got off unscathed.

Terrence "Salty" Harris was forced to turn in his stripes and was bounced from the regiment. Myron Ranney was busted to private. As was Catherine, who lost the position of ranking medic with the demotion. But she was far too relieved to really be upset about that.

In the evening, after lights out, Kathleen stared at the roof of their barrack and commented: "You know, that was so mind-bogglingly stupid, I can't even describe it."

Across from her, Elizabeth snickered.

"My thoughts exactly", Ana María agreed, her pillow rustling as she got comfortable.

A sigh wafted through the room, followed by the disembodied voice of Irene saying: "I know. But it had to be done."

"No no, I get that. That's not my point", Kathleen explained. "My point is that you didn't even consider going to the colonel and expressing a vote of no confidence in our CO."

 **.**

"That's not my issue either", Frances chimed in. "I just don't get why you wouldn't tell us about this."

Theresa supplied: " _Need to know_ , right?"

Maxine nodded even if nobody could see it in the dark. "Yes", she said. "And plausible deniability."

"We didn't want to put you all at risk, too", Catherine added.

"What I wonder, though", Jessica mused, "is why _you_ got demoted, Cath. I mean, I get Harris and Ranney, they were the ones who orchestrated the whole thing, but why you?"

The former ranking medic shrugged. She hadn't really thought about it, far too happy that they had all gotten off relatively lightly. After all, mutiny was an offence punishable by death.

Louise yawned. "To make an example, possibly", she speculated, scratching at her eyebrow. "To remind us that we won't get any preferential treatment. Which is only right, I'd say."

Murmured agreements rang out before Frances gave a big yawn and said: "Well anyway, glad you're okay, let's hope your crazy scheme pays off, I'm beat, so good night."

They chuckled, wished each other a good night and closed their eyes.

* * *

Colonel Sink wasn't a good and respected regimental commander for nothing. He realised that the stunt Easy's non-commissioned officers had pulled was more than just the rash idea of a few disgruntled men. It was an act of desperation. So, he decided to look into the goddamn fiasco.

Captain Sobel was transferred and appointed to a new jump school at Chilton Foliat as an instructor. While his training methods were admittedly crude or gruelling sometimes, there was no denying that he was responsible for making Easy the best. Some would say that they had become the best because of Sobel, others would claim that it was despite him, the end result was the same.

The new CO replacing Sobel was Lieutenant Thomas Meehan, formerly from Baker Company. He was almost the complete opposite of Sobel. Steady, with a friendly smile and a mind for tactics. He'd never dealt with any of the women personally before, but he was more than willing to see how they did. He made a point of speaking to them individually. As he put it, he wanted to make sure that they knew he would always hear their side of whatever story or accusation crossed his desk.

The company also got a new platoon leader, Lt Buck Compton. He was a genial sort who got along great with the enlisted. With his snowy blond hair and bright eyes, he certainly looked the part of the All-American hero. But that wasn't to mean that he was incapable. No, he was a good leader that one could depend on. He was also quite happy to let the NCOs do their job instead of trying to delegating each task himself and running the risk of assigning soldiers whose particular skills or talents would have been better use elsewhere.

Both new officers were soon duly impressed with the women of the company. They both knew rationally that the female members of Easy were just as fit and skilled as any of the men, but actually witnessing it was still a different matter. Any reservations they might have had were dissolved at the latest after they had seen Maxine and Irene direct their squads, Jessica take down some of the biggest men in unarmed combat or Ana María dismantle and repair a radio.

And, of course, nothing put a doubtful man's mind at rest like watching Louise shoot smiley faces into paper targets from 300 yards away.

* * *

Towards the end of May 1944, the regiment moved to Upottery. Tension lay in the air as everybody knew that something was up. Something big was approaching. They were no longer billeted in barracks, they completed training jump after training jump and there were British soldiers walking around in German uniforms on base.

One night, during a particularly dull and uneventful shift at the infirmary, Mia and Roe were quietly going over their field manuals, conferring in hushed whispers over suggested treatments and different scenarios. They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Opening the door, Mia was met with the sight of a corporal from Dog Company, his hair sleep-mussed and eyes squinting against the light that spilled through the doorway.

"Hey Doc, um, there's this guy at the latrines", he said, "uh...he don't look so good. Been puking an' all that, but I think it ain't just from a few too many."

Gene nodded, grabbing his bag. "Alright, let's go", he told the man. There was no need to ask his friend if she would stay and hold down the fort.

 **.**

Five minutes later, he returned, holding up the stumbling form of their colleague and ranking medic Al Mampre.

"What happened?", Mia asked as she came to meet them, ducking under Mampre's other arm to take some of his weight. The poor man could barely walk straight, he was shaking so badly.

"Dunno", the half-Cajun replied as they guided their friend towards the nearest cot, his soft accent holding no real urgency. "Like the corporal said, he was in the latrines throwing up. He said his throat wasn't feeling right."

Helping Mampre sit down, Mia looked him over, taking note of his flushed cheeks and unusually pale complexion. "Hey Al", she addressed him, "how do you feel?"

Gene handed him a basin, just in case he needed to throw up again.

"Like shit", Mampre rasped, wincing in pain. "My neck hurts like nobody's business." His expression changed to one of horrified disgust, seconds before he bent over the basin and retched.

One of Mia's hands was rubbing soothing circles on his back while the other felt his forehead. "He's hot", she told Gene, a frown starting to form on her features. "And that" – she pointed to the contents of the basin Mampre was holding – "is not from alcohol."

Gene nodded. They'd had to take care of enough soldiers whose stomachs had protested after being forced to digest too much beer to know what that looked like. "I'll get the doctor."

 **.**

As it turned out, Mampre had gotten a nasty infection in his neck. The pus that had leaked from there had been the cause for his vomiting. He was transported to the nearest military hospital in the early hours of morning.

Oats took over as ranking medic ad interim.

"Only until Al's recovered", he insisted. "Not a day longer."


	16. Chapter 16 - Preparations

**Hey guys, another rather short chapter, but it's the last one for the first episode! Our boys and girls are going to war.**

 **I initially wanted to hold off posting it until tomorrow, but as I'm terribly nervous because it's my concert band's end-of-year concert tonight, I thought I might as well post this now and distract my over-active brain.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter :)**

* * *

On June 4, they were briefed on what had been dubbed Operation Overlord. It was a massive endeavour. Lieutenant Meehan detailed the Airborne's objective, pointed out the significant points on the map and finished by telling them: "Each trooper will learn this operation by heart, and know his and every other outfits' mission to the detail."

Dukeman stood up, asking: "Lt Meehan?"

"Yes, Dukeman?"

"Sir, are we dropping tonight?", he posed the question that was burning in everybody's minds.

Their CO responded: "When it's time for you to know, we'll let you know."

Scoffing quietly, Elizabeth leant over to Jessica and whispered: "So, either that's a cryptic 'no' or a definitive 'I don't know'."

Her friend smirked and they returned their attention to the lieutenant.

 **.**

"In the meantime, study these sand tables, maps and recon photos until you can draw a map of the area by memory", he said, looking at them to emphasise the importance and gravity of the situation.

"Now, we will drop behind this Atlantic Wall five hours before the 4th Infantry lands at Utah", he continued, gesturing to the large map. "Between our assembly area and the Battalion's objective, there's a German garrison, right here in this area. Sainte-Marie-du-Mont. Easy Company will destroy that garrison."

The heavy silence lingered after Meehan had finished speaking. By now at the latest, every last trooper had realised that this was serious. This wasn't a training exercise or a staged field problem. This was the biggest invasion in military history.

* * *

"Ugh, if I see that map one more time", Kathleen groaned, "I swear, I'm going to lose it." She tossed down the offending thing and gave it a glare.

Frances rubbed her eyes and set down her notepad, which was filled with several incomplete or aborted sketches of the Cotentin peninsula. "Yeah, I hear ya", she sighed.

Theresa yawned and arched her back, leaning back from the clutter of papers she had been poring over. "Well, I need a break", she declared. "Anyone wanna come grab some coffee in the mess hall?"

"Yeah."

"Sure."

They ambled through the staging area and were soon joined by Catherine and Irene.

"Fed up?", the athletic squad sergeant asked with a smile.

The three women chorused an affirmative.

 **.**

In another tent, Ana María let her head drop backwards. It hit the edge of her bunk with a quiet thump. She had been trying to write a letter to her family for almost an hour now, but somehow, the right words just wouldn't come. Normally, the sentences would flow from her pen, but tonight, she couldn't get past the greetings.

 _Queridos mamá y papá, queridos Julia y Joaquín_

The words stared back at her accusingly from the otherwise blank page, the loops of her handwriting lacking their usual energy, the accents sharp and harsh in contrast.

"What do I tell them?", she asked into the silence of the tent. When she didn't find an answer after staring at the tent wall for a few long minutes, she sighed and set her notepad aside. A walk might help, she decided, getting to her feet. Some fresh air to clear her head.

Ducking out of the tent, the Puerto Rican radio tech headed towards the airfield. She crossed paths with Elizabeth, Helen and Jessica, the three friends on their way to the movie tent. Despite their smiles and easy talk she knew they were just as tense, just as restless as her.

"You okay, Ana?", came the question from the shadows, followed by Maxine stepping into the light.

She stopped, giving her a perfunctory smile. "Yeah, just..." She trailed off, not sure how to express the tangled mess of thoughts, worries and what-ifs inside her mind.

The upperclass-raised woman nodded, the evening breeze untucking strands of her chin-long hair from behind her ear. "Me too", she sympathised. "If you need to talk..."

"Thanks, Max."

With that, they both continued on their way.

 **.**

Ana María turned right, moving away from the billets. In the distance, she saw Mia and Louise sitting on a barricade of sandbags, sharing a cigarette. They were an odd pair, she had to admit, but by now, their unlikely friendship no longer raised eyebrows or garnered surprised looks.

Finally, the ground beneath her feet changed from soft grass to unyielding tarmac. Automatically, her dark gaze travelled upwards, roaming over the star-studded sky. Taking a deep breath and letting the air flow out of her lungs slowly, Ana María felt her nerves settle a little.

"Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos", she murmured, the familiarity of the words soothing in their own way. She prayed for strength, for herself and her friends. She prayed for good fortune and the mission's success. And she prayed for peace. Sure, she had signed up to fight in this war, but not out of love for fighting and violence. Yes, she wanted to prove herself, show all those who doubted her and her friends that they weren't weak and helpless, but ultimately, her reason for signing up was a less honourable one.

Ana María was in it for the money. With the additional 50 $ jump pay, she earned quite a handsome sum each month. That money would finally allow her parents to fulfil their dream of travelling to Puerto Rico to show their children their home country. Her parents had come to the US when she had been only a few months old and while they readily admitted that life was much better there, they both longed to see their beloved island again. Her mamá especially. To her, it had been very important that her children knew their heritage and didn't forget their culture.

While she had been deep in thought, her feet had developed a mind of their own and chosen their own way. Without her wanting it, they had carried her back towards the tents. And so was it that Ana María found herself in front of Father Maloney's tent.

Nodding to herself, the short Puerto Rican knocked and entered when the priest's even voice replied.

* * *

The next day found everyone on the airfield, getting ready for the jump.

"I think they have us confused with mules", Jessica commented drily, staring at the collection of gear that she had arranged on a tarp.

"There you go, guys", Doc Oats said over where the medics had gathered, setting down an assortment of boxes, cartons and packages. "Another ton to carry." He had been nominated ranking medic after Mampre fell ill and was thus responsible for making sure the medics had all their supplies and enough of everything.

Further down, Joe Toye was also expressing his annoyance with the ludicrous amount of equipment they had to carry.

"Three-day supply of K-rations, chocolate bars, Charms candy, powdered coffee, sugar, matches, compass, bayonet", he rattled off, circling his tarp with slow, tense strides, "entrenching-tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, my webbing, my .45, canteen, two cartons of smokes", he knelt down, his gestures sharp with frustration, "Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenade, Gammon grenade, TNT, this bullshit", the coiled-up let-down rope landed on the pile with a smack, "and a pair of nasty skivvies!"

They too ended up on the tarp with more than enough force.

"What's your point?", Perconte wondered.

"This stuff weighs as much as I do!", Toye ranted. "And I still got my chute, my reserve chute, my Mae West and my M-1!"

Louise, who was currently busy trying to figure out the leg bags command had sprung on them barely more than a few hours before, exchanged an amused look with Ana María.

Getting to his feet, Perconte quipped: "Where're you keeping the brass knuckles?"

Joe paused, a look of sullen contemplation on his face. "I could use some brass knuckles", he mused.

As Vest came by on mail call, searching for Sergeant Martin, Louise turned around to face Toye and grinned. "You know", she said casually, folding a pair of socks, "you're being terribly dramatic about this." His glare didn't faze her in the least and she continued with mock-seriousness: "After all, command is only ensuring that none of us go _up_ when we're supposed to drop."

He snorted, his scowl turning into a wry smile. "Yeah. How nice of them", he cracked sarcastically.

 **.**

Maxine let out a grunt her parents would have labelled 'horridly unfeminine' when she plonked herself down on her behind, using her pack as a backrest. The straps of her webbing dug into her thighs, but with a little bit of wiggling and a few tugs here and there, she managed to get at least moderately comfortable.

"You gonna eat all that ice cream, Max?", Guarnere asked in his distinct Philly drawl, eyeing her portion dubiously.

She nodded, smiling happily as a generous spoonful of the cold dessert melted in her mouth.

"Yep", she confirmed after swallowing – just because most soldiers' table manners weren't exactly up to scratch didn't mean she had to join them – and asked back: "Why, want to scrounge it off me?"

He gave her one of his signature grins, wagging his spoon at her. "You wound me, Max", he declared.

She snorted. "Yeah right. You just want more ice cream." She regarded him with a shrewd look, one eyebrow arched and corners of her mouth lifted into a fond smirk.

Bill laughed and shrugged unrepentantly. "Nothin' wrong with that."

They interrupted their teasing banter when Vest came by, handing out a missive with the comment "From Colonel Sink."

Maxine took hers, but before she could even glance at it, Luz had already started reading the message out loud in the regimental commander's accent.

"Soldiers of the regiment", he drawled, acing the impression just like he always did. "Tonight is the night..." He hesitated briefly, reverting back to his own voice. "...of nights. Today, as you read this, you are en route to the great adventure for which you have trained for over two years."

Maxine set the paper down, something in her chest hardening.

Guarnere sighed and put down his spoon. "So that's why they gave us ice cream", he realised.

She nodded.

* * *

"Easy Company! Listen up!" Lieutenant Meehan's voice easily carried over the area, from where he was standing atop the hood of a jeep. "Gather up around me!"

When some soldiers dawdled, he urged: "Move it up, come on, gentlemen! Let's go!"

The company gathered, most of them already wearing camouflage paint and full gear.

"The Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog", Meehan announced. "High winds on the drop zone. No jump tonight."

Groans and murmurs rippled through the assembled crowd.

"The invasion has been postponed, we're on a 24-hour stand-down", their CO finished before ordering the drill sergeants to take charge.

* * *

Afternoon was turning into evening on June 5 when Easy Company was once more on the airfield. They were fully equipped, laden with somewhere between 90 and 120 pounds of gear that ranged from zippo lighters and crookneck flashlights to switchblades and folding-stock M1 carbines, from aspirin to mortars.

The medics were the last ones as the rest of the soldiers were already reclining on the ground, half-sitting, half-lying in two rows, grouped together in their sticks in front of their assigned aircrafts. They passed out the airsickness pills command had ordered each man to take before returning to their places in the line-up.

 **.**

It took three people to get one paratrooper onto a plane. They shoved and pulled each other up the few steps, hauling in massive, bulky bags of extra equipment. After what felt like hours, everybody was aboard their aircraft, sitting squished together like sardines on the benches.

Daylight was getting scarce when the C-47s rolled down the tarmac and accelerated. One after the other, the huge machines heaved themselves into the sky, the engines' deep rumble filling the air.


	17. Chapter 17 - D-Day

**Hello everyone and Happy New Year! I hope you're all doing well.**

 **I survived my end-of-year concert (It went really well and we had fun) and have had surprisingly relaxing Christmas holidays so far. I started with exam prep today, but since I only have two exams, it's not that big of a deal. Especially not compared to second semester, where I had a whooping 14 exams over a course of 8 days. Definitely not my idea of fun...**

 **Anyways, enough ramblings from me. I hope you enjoy the chapter. It was a tricky one to write and I haven't decided yet whether I'm happy with it or not.**

* * *

Apart from the rattling and rumbling of the aircraft, which drowned out a lot of other noises, the inside of the plane was eerily silent. Catherine shifted and flexed her toes inside her jump boots. Between the tight webbing and the pack of the reserve chute on her lap, her left leg was starting to fall asleep.

She was scared. At first, she'd been able to distract herself, but when darkness had settled over them, her mind had inevitably turned to what lay ahead. And then to what she'd left behind.

Tommy, her bright little boy, would be turning six years old in two weeks. He would start elementary school in fall. And Gwen, now already eight years old, was bursting with pride for her baby brother. _He can read already_ , she had written in one of her letters, her blocky letters still uneven, but improving. _And Daddy and I taught him to tell time._

Catherine's smile at the thought didn't make it onto her face. Thunder cracked in the distance, barely audible over the noise of the plane. She didn't pay it any heed, mind still focused on her family. She could just picture them, her kids splashing in the shallows on the beach, Roger teaching them how to float and swim.

 _Roger._

The thought made her heart twinge with longing. Her dear husband, who had encouraged her to enlist after he'd been declared 4F. Her best friend, whose happy-go-lucky personality had immediately taken her in when they had first met. Her partner in crime, with whom she'd gone through thick and thin.

 **.**

The distant thunder was closer now and definitely not thunder. It was the booming of anti-aircraft batteries that tore up the night with their salves. The planes broke through the thick clouds and suddenly, the sky was alight with a lightning storm of gunfire, explosions and the blinding streaks of tracer ammunition.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Kathleen tried to focus on something other than the buzzing tingle of nerves under her skin.

The red light flashed on next to the doorway. In the dim, flickering lighting, she could just make out her jump master's signal to get ready. With her heart pounding at the base of her throat, she got to her feet along with the rest of her stick, hooking herself to the central line. Her hands, much to her surprise, weren't trembling.

"Equipment check!", she heard the jump master shout.

Reaching out, she checked the straps of the person in front of her. She felt her way along the belts and knots before making sure her own webbing was cinched tightly.

Kathleen didn't hear the command to sound off for equipment check, but when the man behind her gave her a firm clap on the shoulder and bellowed: "Six okay!", she simply continued the line.

"Four okay!", she heard Ana María call in front of her.

The plane bounced and jostled, unexpectedly banking left at one point, making a few of them lose their balance. Kathleen didn't have time to worry about their aircraft being hit because their line began moving forward. She was out the door and plummeting earthwards when a round from the Ack-Acks took out one of the plane's engines.

 **.**

Kathleen was genuinely surprised when her boots hit the ground and she absorbed the shook. With the amount of munition flying through the air, the disorienting flashes of explosions and tracers, the deafening noise of the battle, she honestly hadn't expected to survive the drop.

Dazedly getting onto all fours, she shook her head. _Get a hold of yourself!_

Quickly taking stock, she determined that her leg bag was a lost cause after not seeing it anywhere in her vicinity. Grabbing her rifle and checking the magazine, she gathered her remaining equipment and moved out, intent on finding better cover before trying to orientate herself.

* * *

Crouched in a thicket, Jessica was squinting at the tiny compass in her hand, using her body to hide the sparse light of her zippo. Her heart was hammering in her chest, the fear of having lost her way, of walking in the wrong direction gripping her throat. Upon her landing, she'd looked around and realised with a jolt of terror that she didn't recognise anything. There had been no prominent landmarks, only grass, bushes and the outskirts of the forest she was now currently in.

 _Where the fuck am I?_ , she wondered before modifying it to _Where the fuck is everyone else?_

Her question was soon answered when some twigs rustled a few paces away from her hiding place. Jessica fished out her cricket and gave two clicks, holding her breath as she listened for a response.

Click-click. Click-clack.

Frowning, she readied her trench knife and uttered the prompting phrase: "Flash." Something had sounded off about those clicks, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Thunder", came the hissed reply and Jessica could breathe a little easier. She got up to reveal herself, lowering her weapon.

"Jess?", a familiar voice asked.

She blinked. "Max?", she questioned, not entirely sure. "That you?"

 **.**

Steps approached and in the dark, she could just barely make out the outline of Maxine's face, her features blurred and masked by the grease paint.

"Yes, it's me", the Staff Sergeant confirmed, white teeth flashing in a brief smile. "You alright?"

"Fine. Any idea where we are?"

Much to Jessica's relief, her friend nodded. "Some."

They started walking in the direction Maxine indicated, mindful to keep sounds to a minimum.

"I take it you lost your leg bag", the Washingtonian muttered, referring to Jessica's obvious lack of weapons and equipment.

She scoffed. "Piece of shit got ripped off in the prop blast."

Maxine offered an inarticulate hum before adding frankly: "You'll find a gun soon enough."

* * *

Pale morning light dawned over Normandy, the sun indiscriminately washing over Germans and Allies, lush fields and smouldering wreckage, corpses and living people alike. It also shone down on the lone figure that was heading up the road towards the assembly point of the 506th PIR's 2nd Battalion.

Sharp eyes glinting over cheeks smeared with dark camouflage paint, Louise scanned her surroundings and didn't let her guard down even after she'd passed the manned checkpoint. She was on alert, relaxing her grip on her rifle only when she saw a group of soldiers sitting by the roadside.

The Brit pushed her helmet back, gaze flitting over the men, trying to spot some familiar faces. She stepped around the carcasses of dead animals that were used as a barricade and ignored the blood running down the gutters and staining her boots.

Approaching a few men from their sister company, Louise asked for directions to the temporary CP.

"Up ahead", one of them said, pointing down the road. "By the farm. You can't miss it."

Nodding in thanks, the woman continued, the relatively relaxed postures of the people around her leading her to slinging her rifle over her shoulder.

 **.**

Reaching the farm that the guys from Fox had described, she was met with a relieving sight. There were Lieutenants Winters and Compton along with probably a dozen or so of Easy's men. From the looks of it, they were preparing for an assignment.

"Just weapons and ammo, drop everything else!", she heard Winters call. "Got any spare ammo in a pack or musette bag, bring it along!"

"Dear me, you sure look busy", she announced her presence, plastering a grin she didn't feel onto her face. "Need any help?"

Several heads swivelled around, making her smile for real. She saluted the officers and greeted the guys, accepting their surprising hugs and friendly pats on the shoulder. Even Guarnere, whose foul mood was surrounding him like a dark cloud, gave her a nod and a smile.

 **.**

Winters quickly filled her in on the situation. "We're going to take out a couple of 88s firing on Utah beach. We lay a base of fire, two squads of three make the main assault." He showed her the sketched map of the German battery, pointing out the four guns and the trenches connecting them. "I want you to set up a sniper position at a distance to the machine guns."

Louise nodded and quickly moved to drop all the excess gear, keeping her M-1 Garand and her musette bag and passing a pack of TNT to Lipton. As she got ready, Liebgott came over, a genuine tilt in his signature smirk.

"So, how was your jump?", he asked.

"A right mess", she replied with a roll of her eyes. "Missed the DZ, lost that stupid leg bag in the prop blast and landed right at the edge of a flooded field. But, it was alright, I s'pose. Least I wasn't too far off. Yours?"

Liebgott mirrored her expression, which told her all she needed to know. "Short. Met up with Plesha and Hendrix, came across Ranney a bit later", he relayed with a shrug.

"Alright, let's move!", Lipton called, breaking up their conversation.


	18. Chapter 18 - Brécourt Manor

**Hello everyone! As always, I'd like to thank you guys for reading and reviewing. I'm so happy that you enjoy the story.**

 **Sorry for the short chapter, I hope you like it anyways. :)**

* * *

They snuck towards the German battery through a garden. The cabbages were arranged in neat rows, Louise noted with that absent-minded, mild interest that sometimes came about when one couldn't help but notice odd, completely irrelevant details in situations where there really were far more important things to worry about.

The cannon blasts were loud enough to make her teeth ache and her stomach flip. They took cover behind a row of overgrown shrubbery and crooked trees, near a rusted, cannibalised car.

Lieutenant Winters covertly scanned the scene before joining them where they were crouched in the shadow of the thick foliage. "Petty, Liebgott, enfilading fire", he whispered, sending them off with a brisk gesture.

After briefly conferring with Buck, he beckoned Lipton over. Giving him his orders, Winters also dismissed him with a nod, turning to the British sniper who was studying the enemy position, frowning in concentration. "Fields, envelop left. Don't give away your position until you have to", he ordered. Even though he knew that it didn't need to be said, he added: "Make it count."

She nodded, briefly acknowledging with a "Yes sir" before disappearing.

 **.**

The machine gun opening fire on them took the Germans by surprise. Although they quickly reacted and returned fire, the moment of confusion was enough for the second squad to move closer undetected.

From her perch up in one of the more densely leaved trees, Louise watched the Germans' effort to counter the attack while forcing her pulse down. The ground shock under the force of the blasts. "88s my left butt cheek", she muttered sourly. "Those are 105s."

Shots from two M-1s rang out and were answered by German machine gun fire. The trees that she'd seen Lipton and Ranney climb started to lose twigs and branches. She bit her lip as her friends took fire, the hedges peppered by bullets. _Come on, come on_ , she urged Buck and his squad on in her mind, keeping one eye on them and one on the enemy.

Three explosions in rapid succession sent up fountains of dirt.

Buck and his squad moved in.

The tow-headed lieutenant's rifle jammed and he hurriedly yanked back the slide of his carbine.

Through her scope, Louise spotted the enemy soldier reaching for his gun. Without hesitation, she adjusted her aim and squeezed the trigger. The recoil pushed against her shoulder, butt plate against bone.

Then, Winters gave the signal for the attack, bursting out into the open with his squad of four behind him. Mortar rounds blew up around them, but it didn't' stop them.

 **.**

Louise followed their progress along the sights of her rifle, each shot she fired felling one enemy. In the hail of bullets coming from seemingly all sides at once, the Germans hadn't managed to pin down her location. From her vantage point, the Brit had almost a bird's eye view of the battle.

She saw Popeye tumble into the trench in an uncoordinated heap. She watched Buck lob a grenade at a fleeing soldier as if he were on the baseball pitch. The grenade sailed through the air in one straight line and blew up on impact. Adjusting her stance slightly, Louise joined in on stopping the Germans from retreating to their other trenches, falling into a rhythm of breathing, aiming and squeezing the trigger between pulse beats.

Her heart skipped several beats when an explosion rocked the part of the trench where Winters and his squad were. All she had seen was a blurred figure when somebody – it might have been Toye – flung himself forward. Internally shaking her head to clear her mind, Louise refocused on her task.

A few moments later, she was reassured that the potato masher hadn't done any damage since all the guys (apart from Popeye, who had been injured) were still up and moving.

 **.**

Louise was too preoccupied with taking out German soldiers to see Popeye being boosted out of the trench and crawling away on his stomach, but it was impossible to miss the mad scramble that followed less than five seconds later.

A grenade blew up and she grimaced as Toye was knocked back into the trench. _Twice in a row. That's got to hurt._

* * *

The first thing that clued Louise in on the fact that the enemy had pinpointed her position was one of them gesturing in her direction while frantically talking to a machine gunner. Putting two and two together, the Brit grabbed her rifle and scooted backwards, intent on getting out of the firing line.

It was unmistakably clear that she'd been made when the tree started disintegrating around her, wood and leaves riddled with holes.

A continuous stream of colourful words spilled from her lips as she clambered down from her now exposed position, muttering curses that would have scandalised her mother and impressed her cousins. On the ground, the blonde sniper quickly picked out a new spot for herself. Evaluating her possibilities, she ignored the stinging pain on her face and neck where ricocheting wooden splinters had nicked her skin. She had bigger fish to fry.

The guys had captured the first gun and were well on their way to the second, but Lipton and Ranney still needed to cross that first field to get the TNT to Winters. And with all the bullets and mortar shells whizzing around, the best she could do was to continue confusing the Germans and protecting her comrades. A grim smirk ghosted over Louise's lips as she settled into the new perch a few trees over, watching with a twisted sense of vindicated satisfaction as the Germans began firing at their third gun, at their own people.

Seeing one man reaching for the radio, she quickly took aim. The shot rang out and a split-second later, the communication device was blown apart, pieces flying in all directions. The next shot knocked the soldier off his feet.

 **.**

The first pair of machine gunners – Liebgott and Petty, judging by their statures – relocated to the first of the 105s they had captured.

Another slew of words unsuitable for polite company escaped the British woman when all of a sudden, Malarkey broke cover and dashed out into the open.

"What on Earth-?", she muttered. "Are you suddenly a medic now or what?"

While seriously questioning the state of her comrade's mental faculties under her breath, Louise did her best to ensure he survived his idiotic stunt so she could shout at him later. The gunfire stopped and she could clearly hear Liebgott call: "Now you stop firing? Beautiful."

She broke the brief cease-fire by taking out a soldier who had been about to shoot at Malarkey. The single crack of her sniper rifle shattered the bubble of confused silence and the rattling gunfire picked up again, leaving Malarkey to hightail it back to their line.

"Jesus Christ on a goddamn crutch", Louise swore fervently, not taking her eyes off the battle to watch the M-1's en bloc clip get ejected with a distinct _chink!_

She could field strip her weapon blindfolded, reloading without looking was no problem at all. She jammed a full clip in, let the slide snap shut and took aim again. _God above._

Through sheer dumb luck, Malarkey made it back completely unscathed, despite the hail of bullets nipping at his heels.

 **.**

Two metallic explosions later, the first two guns were disabled. Bursts of gunfire along with muzzle flashes from under the camouflage nets informed the sniper that part of their small assault team had managed to secure the third of the 105s as well.

But the fight wasn't over yet.

Louise saw Lieutenant Speirs and a group of D company soldiers rush to the second gun, carrying supplies of ammo. A minute later, the members of Dog broke cover and took off towards the last gun. Even from the distance, the Brit could make out Speirs leaving the relative safety of the trench to gain the advantage of higher ground.

"Bloody hell, another lunatic", she murmured as she watched him take the last gun almost single-handedly while losing only two men.

After another resounding bang, the entire artillery battery was destroyed and the paratroopers fell back, returning to battalion.

* * *

By nightfall, they had secured Sainte-Marie-du-Mont. Another handful of Easy Company's members had found their way to them, but there were still so many unaccounted for. Among those who had joined them were Docs Pepping and Roe, and Lieutenant Nixon.

Louise had heard all about Nix's exciting day, chuckling even at the memory of his narrative.

During their assault on the battery at Brécourt Manor, Lt Winters had discovered some German maps, which he had promptly handed off to the intelligence officer. Recognising the importance of the documents – apparently, the maps had detailed the positions of every single German artillery gun in France – Nix had run the whole three miles down to the beach to relay them to command before returning to Easy via tank.

Dragging a hand through her hair and pointedly ignoring the dirt and sweat crusting the short blonde strands, Louise took a drag from her cigarette and sat down, tilting her head back and blowing a wisp of smoke up into the night air.

 **.**

The distinctive footfalls of jump boots against cobblestone pavement made her turn her head. Liebgott was walking over to her, his stride purposeful.

He plopped himself down next to her with the grace of a sack of potatoes, digging a cigarette from one of the thousand pockets on his ODs. When he noticed the amused smirk and questioningly arched eyebrow of the British sniper, he rolled his eyes and asked: "You eaten yet?"

Louise nodded. "You?"

"Yeah", he replied. "Those rations taste like shit."

She snorted and offered: "I would have gone for fried cardboard and soggy newspaper, but that works as well."

Liebgott laughed and lit his smoke. "Got experience with that then?", he questioned, grinning when his friend deadpanned without delay: "Of course, haven't you?"

They sat together in companionable silence, each dwelling on their own thoughts. In an hour, they would be heading out for Culoville. But for now, they chose not to think about that, preferring to distract themselves by bantering and snarking back and forth.

 **.**

Across the Cotentin peninsula, a dozen female paratroopers were trying to return to their companies. Some had grouped together with fellow troopers from the 506, others had come across men from the 502, or even their sister division, the 82nd Airborne. And a few were on their own, all alone behind enemy lines.


	19. Chapter 19 - Regrouping and Heading out

**Hello everybody! So, I survived the last exam of the semester. French grammar, brrr... I wonder what possessed me to pick that course. Well, the exam went okayish, I guess? My reactions to the questions ranged from "easy, no problem" to "fuuuuck", so it's hard to say...**

 **On another note: There won't be an update next week because I'll be on holiday :) But I can post another chapter this Sunday if you like.**

* * *

Lieutenant Winters sighed as he read through the updated company roster. Nixon was reading over his shoulder while Welsh was peering at the document from the side. Across from them, officers from Dog and Fox Company were mirroring them, going over their own lists of names.

Throughout D-Day plus one, soldiers had made their way to HQ and their companies, all of them glad to be back among friends. Unfortunately, they also brought reports of casualties. And there were many of them. To everyone's worry and consternation, the whereabouts of Lt Meehan, Easy's CO, were still unknown.

A sudden dull roar of cheers and hollers made the officers look up. It seemed as if another group of 'prodigal sons' had returned.

"Who is it?", Welsh wondered.

They didn't have to wait long to find out. Eventually, the crowd of soldiers that had gathered to greet the newcomers parted to reveal a group of four. Their faces were smudged with dirt and the remnants of camouflage paint and they looked exhausted, but there were smiles on their faces as the four headed towards the officers.

"That's Leelan and MacDowell in the back", said First Lieutenant John Kelly from Dog Company, recognising two of the figures as men from his platoon.

First Lieutenant Thomas Rhodes allowed himself a small smile as he recognised one of them as a member of Fox Company. "I'll be damned", he muttered, sounding utterly pleased. "Audrey Maynard."

"And Frances Shea", Nixon identified the last member of the little unit, happy to see another of Easy's women alive and well.

 **.**

The four came to a stop in front of the officers and saluted, reporting for duty before dropping the formality and exchanging greetings.

"Good to see you, sirs", Frances said with a tired, but sincere grin as she shook Welsh's hand.

"And you, Shea", Winters replied.

She nodded. "Thanks." Then, she turned serious, the smile fading from her eyes. Addressing Winters, she spoke: "Sir, Irene, uh, Sergeant McKinsey was killed. She...was shot down on the jump."

Frances shuddered unconsciously as the memory rose before her inner eye. She hadn't seen it clearly – and was actually quite glad about it – but the sounds were still echoing in her ears. It was almost as if somebody had turned down the volume on the noise of the battle because she had heard it so clearly.

The first bullet hitting Irene's body. Her cry of pain. A volley shredding her chute. The aborted scream when she tried to keep quiet.

And then the horrible, horrible silence after she'd disappeared from view.

 **.**

"Thank you, Frances." The kind, sombre voice of her platoon leader pulled her from her thoughts. "Go join your squad", he added.

She nodded, offering a small smile. "Yes sir."

Watching her go, Nixon muttered: "So...that leaves four unaccounted for." He tallied them up on his fingers. "Arricante, Griffith, Preston and Vaughn."

Welsh gave an agreeing hum and a distracted nod.

Winters remained silent, pensive gaze following the nimble-fingered young woman walking towards her squad.

* * *

A small group of Easy Company soldiers trekked through hedge-lined fields, steadily heading towards the town where their company was said to be. The drop had been a disaster, scattering them all over the goddamn French countryside, forcing them to band together in small groups. They'd fought the Nazis in several skirmishes, all the while keeping their ears open for any rumours on the whereabouts of their company. Talbert, Shifty and Smokey had finally got some reliable intel from a radio op from the 502nd and quickly decided to head out and find Easy. They had all been in the same stick and landed together in a stroke of luck.

While none of them mentioned it, they all feared that the rest of the company had been wiped out. Walking past smouldering wreckage of the C-47s that had carried them didn't help assuage the worry of the planes being shot down, screaming towards the unforgiving ground and going up in a ball of flame before anybody had a chance to get out. So when they saw Private Blithe in the clearing, next to another still-burning pile of scrap that had once been an aircraft, it was a relief.

That relief soon morphed into a sinking feeling of confusion when Blithe didn't react to Talbert calling his name. Instead, the blond private continued to look up to the sun, a distant, dazed expression on his face.

"Blithe", Smokey repeated, putting a touch more force into his voice.

Slowly, the blond turned and came walking over to them, squinting against the glare of the sun.

Tab gave him a smile, greeting him with an affable "Thought that was you." Studying him, he asked: "You alone?"

He nodded. "You're the first friendly faces I've seen."

"I ain't surprised", Smokey chimed in, carrying his machine gun over the shoulder. "They dropped us all over the goddamn peninsula."

Now a group of four, they continued onwards. They still had a lot of ground to cover and it wouldn't do to dawdle in enemy territory.

 **.**

After barely thirty minutes of walking, though, they stopped again when Shifty pointed to a crouched figure up ahead and declared with absolute certainty: "That's one of ours."

No-one questioned him since it was well-known that he had an extraordinarily keen eye. They headed towards the figure, glad to see another of their company, or at least their battalion. The trooper must have heard their approach since he got to his feet and came to meet them halfway.

"Doc?", Smokey asked in joyful surprise.

It was indeed one of their medics, the youngest at that.

"Hey Doc", Tab said with a smile before noticing the blood staining her ODs and inquiring: "You okay?"

Mia returned the smile, replying: "Hello guys, I'm happy to see you. It's not mine, Talbert, thank you."

Talbert repeated the question he had already asked Blithe, curiosity mixing with worry. "Were you alone all this time?"

The men were duly impressed when Mia nodded. Surviving on one's own behind enemy lines for two days was no small feat and the fact that she'd done it without any weapons made it even more admirable.

Smokey clapped her on the shoulder. "C'mon, we're gonna find Easy."

 **.**

It took them a good portion of the day, but finally, they reached their unit's location in the afternoon.

"Well, look who decided to show up, Floyd!", the good-natured call rang out.

Talbert smiled and shook Luz' hand. "I thought we'd never find you guys", he said, relief banishing the coil of fear that had taken up residence in chest as he let his eyes sweep over the assembled men.

* * *

Leaning her back against the solid stone of a war memorial, Theresa watched with a smile as the guys showed off their loot. As the returnees moved closer, something else caught her eye. A beaming grin split her face when she saw who was lingering on the side-lines, watching the guys flocking to the newcomers with a relieved and content expression.

"Thank you, God", Theresa mumbled before reaching out and giving Louise and Catherine a nudge. "Hey, look. Mia's back!"

A blonde and a light brown head swivelled around and two pairs of eyes widened, overjoyed grins spreading on their lips. A look passed between the three women, silent communication taking place in a second. Then, they surged to their feet as one.

Easily hopping over the chain cordoning off the memorial, they rushed towards their friend, tackling her in a big four-way hug. The men traded grins and glances at the exuberant reunion, all glad to see that another of their women had found her way back into the fold.

 **.**

Mia jumped when out of nowhere, several pairs of arms wrapped around her and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. After the briefest moment of panic, she relaxed into the embrace, a laugh bubbling up in her chest.

"Hi girls", she said when they pulled back to look at her, not letting go completely. "It's nice to see known faces again."

"It's great to see you", Louise offered, giving her shoulder a squeeze. Theresa and Catherine vigorously voiced their agreements.

Even in the excitement, Catherine didn't miss the blood splattering her fellow medic's clothes. And Mia didn't miss her friend's eyes zeroing in on the reddish-brown stains.

She gave her a small smile and reassured her: "It's not my blood, Mom. I'm not hurt."

The Hawaiian nodded in acceptance. "I'm glad to hear that."

They continued to chat, Theresa and Louise bringing Mia up to speed on the events of the past few days, what the company had been up to, Catherine informing her about how the medics were faring and Mia, in turn, starting to tell them about what had happened to her since the jump.

 **.**

"Easy Company!", the shout went up, cutting the half-German's recount short. "On the road!"

Heaving themselves onto their feet, the riflewomen and medics grabbed their gear, chuckling when they heard Maxine mobilising her squad with the words "C'mon boys, are you waiting for written invitations?"

"Let's go, First platoon!", Lieutenant Welsh's voice called, his fellow platoon leaders and the respective platoon sergeants also spurring the men into action.

Mia picked up her helmet. "With which platoon am I?", she asked Catherine, swiping a few strands of dirt-crusted short hair from her eyes. "Third?"

"Nah, Pepping got 'em", her friend replied. "Guess it depends on which platoon's the biggest, since there's four of us now."

Since their current ranking medic, Mampre, had been unable to make the jump, they had tacitly decided that because Catherine already had experience with the position, she should be in charge until either Mampre returned or the officers appointed somebody else.

 **.**

Sending Mia off to join Gene in second platoon, Catherine then headed over to where first platoon was gathering to hear their lieutenant's orders.

She gave Luz a knowing smile when the radioman scuttled to stand next to her after having hurriedly stopped Mia to smother her in a hug and plant a smacking kiss onto her cheek. The young woman had blushed a deep scarlet, a bashful little smile on her lips.

He simply grinned back before turning his attention to Welsh, who called them to order.

"It'll be dark soon, I want light and noise discipline from here on", the gap-toothed Irishman said, projecting his voice clearly so that everyone heard him. "No talking, no smoking and no playing 'grab fanny' with the man in front of you, Luz." He shot the man in question a serious look although the corners of his mouth betrayed his own amusement.

Boyle asked: "So where we headed to, Lieutenant, hm?"

"We're taking Carentan."

"That sounds like fun", someone - possibly Hoobler - commented dryly, tone somewhere in the middle between joking and bitching.

Welsh slung a satchel over his shoulder and continued: "It's the only place where armour from Omaha and Utah Beach can link up and head inland. Until we take Carentan, they're stuck on the sand. General Taylor's sending the whole division."

Luz huffed a derisive snort and, smirk on his face, drawled in said man's voice: "Remember boys, give me three days and three nights of hard fighting, and you will be relieved." Just like all of his imitations, it was spot on, the put-on accent eliciting some chuckles and agreeing mutters.

 **.**

Hoobler volunteered to take point.

"Corporal Hoobler will be lead scout", Welsh approved. Then, his gaze fell on Blithe and he addressed him, saying: "Glad you could join us."

The dreamy, shy blond nodded, mumbling a soft "Thank you, sir."

Returning to business, Welsh got them moving.

"First platoon, fall in behind Fox Company. You people from second and third platoon, follow us. Shake a leg."

 **.**

"Another thing to remember, boys", General Taylor's voice piped up once more as they began to move out. "Flies spread disease, so keep yours closed."

Amidst the snickers rippling through them, the fondly exasperated voice of the lieutenant could be heard telling their jokester radioman to shut up.

* * *

Their path lead through the flooded fields, leaving them to meander along the banks, carefully following in the steps of the person in front. Night fell around them and only the flickering glow of still-burning skeletons of destroyed vehicles illuminated their surroundings. Nobody flinched at the distant gunshots, all too accustomed to the sound already.

Suppressed coughs whispered on the heated breeze caused by the crackling fires. The smoke made their eyes water and their throats ache.

 **.**

Jessica grimaced when she had to step over a corpse that had frozen in a horridly contorted position, one hand clawing at empty air in what could only have been an agonising death. _Poor sap_ , she thought before shoving the image from her mind.

When they stopped, she managed to keep her irritation in check enough to only roll her eyes. Walking at the front of the line, in front of Perconte, she didn't have to strain her hearing to catch Hoobler's muttered "We lost F company, sir" or Welsh's frustrated response.

"Again?!", he asked, annoyance mixing with incredulity.

Jessica managed to swallow back a groan. _Just great._ They were stopped for the what felt like the tenth time in the six hours they had been walking.

As Perconte approached and silently questioned with a jerk of his head what the hold-up was, Hoobler quietly informed him that they had lost their sister company. The Italian radioman's reaction was identical to their Irish lieutenant's. "Again?!"

As he turned to tell Blithe and Skinny behind him the news, Welsh returned from where he had been trying to locate Fox company and spoke in an undertone: "Perconte, Helak, go back and pass the word to hold up."

"Yes sir", they acknowledged, moving to comply.

 **.**

"Why'd we stop, Jess?", Maxine whispered when she saw her friend heading down the line.

"We lost F company", came the dry, unimpressed reply.

The Staff Sergeant raised her eyes heavenwards as if praying for strength. "Again?" She shook her head, Jessica recognising the frustration in the movement.

"I know", she commiserated. "It's getting ridiculous."

"Mhm."

They were wasting time out here while the scouts had to relocate Fox, whose officers had evidently foisted off all night exercises onto their NCOs. They would reach an obstacle that hindered troop movement and forced the men to go through one at a time, and as soon as the last person was through, they would rush ahead to make up for lost time.

Which in reality just ended up slowing everyone down.

Every time F company left them behind, Easy had to stop and dig in, which led to a lot of bitching. They had to send out scouts to find F company and tell them to wait, which led to disgruntled scouts who were constantly in danger of stumbling across Germans who might take advantage of the gap in their line to slip through. F company would then complain about how Easy was too slow and should do a better job at keeping up, which put everyone in an even worse mood.

 **.**

When word came down the line that they'd found Fox company again, Ana María couldn't help but wonder how long it would take until the incompetent _palurdos_ raced off again. Blowing out a sigh, she got up from where she had been crouched in the mud, adjusted the radio she was carrying on her back and started walking again.


	20. Chapter 20 - Carentan

**As promised, I'm posting a chapter ahead of schedule because I'll be on holiday until the 30th. I'm going to New York! I'm so excited, but also quietly terrified because I have never been on an airplane for longer than 3 hours...**

* * *

On D-Day plus six, Easy Company was lying in wait in the ditches along the road into Carentan. Birdsong and the chirping of crickets filled the air that was laced with tense anticipation. They were crouched just behind the crest of the hill and waited for their CO to signal the beginning of the attack. Easy would be leading the main assault, first platoon going in hard and fast with second and third right behind.

A dog barked. An uncomfortably high-pitched sound ruptured the strange silence at a periodic interval. The penetrating, rhythmic squeaks set Theresa's teeth on edge. She glanced at her squad behind her. She was doing a squad sergeant's job, she knew that, but since their actual squad leader was still unaccounted for, she was simply the next in line.

 **.**

Finally, Winters looked up from his watch. "Go!", he hissed to Welsh.

Welsh turned to his platoon and whispered: "Let's go, First. Let's go." He got up running, Luz hot on his heels. As radio man, it was his job to stick to the leader and if that leader was one of those who lead from the front, then that was where the radio op would be, too.

Theresa and her squad quickly followed. They were half-way down the road when machine guns came to life, rattling and pouring round after round on them. Dirt sprayed up and the soldiers ducked into the ditches, pinned down by the gunfire.

"Down!", Theresa called to her men as she followed her own order and slid into the ditch. She saw Welsh and Luz dive for cover behind the first building on the left before she had to duck to avoid getting a bullet through her skull.

 **.**

From her position a little ways off from battalion's observants, Louise heard Colonel Strayer hollering: "Get those MGs moving, will ya!? Let's get them outta there!"

 _Bloody brilliant idea, sir_ , she applauded with the appropriate amount of snark, peering through her scope. _Never would've thought of that._

"You're in the open for Pete's sake!", Nixon screamed at Winters, who was indeed in the middle of the road, dodging bullets left and right while he was busy kicking the men into gear.

.

Borrowing some of the more inventive curses she'd learned from her fellow women soldiers, Theresa decided that she didn't fancy being a sitting duck and dying in a roadside ditch. "Fuck it", she said to herself, jumping up.

She didn't bother looking over her shoulder, trusting her guys to follow her. They rallied behind her without hesitation. Weaving this way and that to evade the countless projectiles zipping past them, they ran for the town and the closest cover.

 **.**

Meanwhile, another rifle barked in response to the incessant spewing of the machine guns. Singular shots cut through the pandemonium, accompanied by the splintering of glass or the thump of a body falling to the ground. Louise was systematically scanning rooftops, balconies, windows and building entrances and firing on anyone in an enemy uniform.

"Spotter!", Nixon called from where he was observing the battle through a pair of binoculars, "upstairs window, left!"

Her spotter – she had been quite surprised to actually be assigned one for this mission – was from battalion staff and good at his job. He gave her the necessary information and she lined up the shot.

* * *

Second and third platoon started moving into the town from other sides. They encountered just as much resistance as First, with muzzle flashes coming from virtually every window. But they gave as good as they got, peppering each suspicious curtain and gaping doorway with bullets, just as a precaution.

Maxine had sent her guys to start clearing houses. Crouched behind the edge of a building, she provided covering fire with Frances while they dashed across the intersection.

"Shea, with me!", she shouted over the noise of the battle, clapping her on the shoulder before racing out into the open to the cross to the other side of the street.

 **.**

Louise was cursing a blue streak under her breath as she tried to get the machine gunner currently pinning down Shifty into her sights. _Jesus bloody Christ on a thrice damned bicycle, sodding-_

She inhaled sharply as Welsh broke cover and pelted down the rubble-strewn road. With baited breath, she watched as he flung a grenade through the window at the machine gunner she'd been trying to hit just as he was busy with reloading.

The lieutenant threw himself to the ground to avoid being caught in the explosion, arms automatically coming up to protect his head and neck.

"Halle-fucking-lujah", Louise muttered when a cloud of debris and smoke belched out of the window hole, making a note to later congratulate the lieutenant on his gutsy move. She watched Luz rush to join Welsh while Lipton and Perconte came from the right, heading for the warehouse where at least two more snipers had holed up.

 **.**

Theresa reached her lieutenant, Liebgott, Tipper and Jessica on her heels.

"Tipper, take Liebgott and start clearing these buildings!", he assigned rapidly, wasting no time. "Nolan, Helak, take care of those." He pointed to his right.

They all nodded and took off at a fast jog, not stopping to acknowledge when Welsh hollered after them: "Two on a house!"

 **.**

Ana María yanked a guy from her platoon back just in time before the wall exploded into a shower of plaster and stone. Then, the tell-tale rush of a heavy mortar shell reached their ears. They ducked as it zoomed over their heads, blowing up with a bone-jarring boom a second later.

"They got us zeroed!", Lipton screamed from the third storey of the warehouse fire escape. "Spread it out, spread it out!"

Maxine and Frances pressed themselves against the wall, shielding each other as dirt and debris rained down on them from another explosion. The ground shook beneath them.

"Get the hell out of here!", Lipton was screaming, gesturing wildly.

A shell landed right across the street from where the two women were crouching, making them scramble up and follow the rest of the guys who were hurrying to find cover.

* * *

Cries for medics were already ringing through the streets. The four Easy medics had their hands full, hurrying back and forth on the battlefield to patch up their guys or at least try and stall death. Those that were beyond saving were tended to by the priest.

Easy's chaplain, Father Maloney, calmly went from one wounded to the next to give them their last rights, not discriminating between German and American.

"Crazy fools, the Irish!", Malarkey called to Muck as they snuck from cover to cover, firing back at the Germans.

His friend snorted. "You should know", he retorted.

Pausing to fire off another shot, he then asked: "And what do you call that?", pointing to Doc Arricante, who was kneeling in the middle of the street, looking after one of their comrades while the town was being blasted to hell around her ears.

Throwing herself over her patient to shield him from the dirt and debris another mortar shell spat her way, Mia then righted herself, finished tying off the bandage and stood. She helped the injured man to his feet and swiftly ducked under his arm, obviously preparing to half-guide, half-haul him to the aid station.

"Balls of steel!", the two mortarmen agreed, their respect and awe for the medic, this one in particular, just having reached a new level.

 **.**

Theresa and Jessica had linked up with Welsh and Luz again and were trying to coordinate with battalion to have somebody get rid of the "goddamn" mortars, as the lieutenant put it.

After a good few minutes of arguing and shouting over the radio – with the infernal racket of the artillery, it was impossible to make oneself understood otherwise – they were assured that it would be taken care of.

With the hope that the shelling wouldn't last indefinitely anymore, they moved on to clear the next row of houses. They swerved away from the wall to avoid a shower of glass shards when a window splintered above their heads, but they encountered surprisingly little resistance on their sweep. Only three rifles fired upon them and the shooters were quickly dispatched.

 **.**

Maxine and Frances had little to no warning before the whining whistle of another shell filled their ears.

"Incoming!", Frances screamed, the two of them leaping for cover.

Maxine had the misfortune of being half a millisecond behind her subordinate. The deafening blast made her teeth rattle and she went hurtling through the air.

The involuntary summersault ended with her slamming into the ground. Her head hit the cobblestone pavement with enough force to leave a dent in her helmet. Her vision whited out for a second before snapping back into a wobbly focus of greys. Searing specs of ash and debris stung on her face.

She blinked. Her ears were ringing so badly that she could hardly see.

"Lloyd!"

"Maxine!"

"Max!"

The three voices sounded oddly distorted to her abused ears, almost as if she were underwater. Maxine blinked again. The world was still spinning and rolling madly, but at least some colour was returning to it. A groan made its way past her lips.

 **.**

Frances hadn't seen her friend get thrown back like a ragdoll by the shockwave, but when the dust had settled and revealed her Sergeant lying in an unmoving heap a few feet away, her heart had well-nigh frozen for a second before trying to leap out of her mouth.

Clambering to her feet and rushing over, calling Maxine's name, she was joined by Joe Toye and Dukeman, who had actually witnessed the whole thing. They ran to the woman's side, the guys each grabbing a handful of her shoulder straps, and dragged her out of the street.

"Ow", Maxine muttered, raising a hand to touch the back of her head which was pounding like a herd of wildebeest. Blinking again, she looked at them, relieved to find that her vision was no longer swimming. "I'm okay", she said, pushing herself upright with a grunt.

They looked at her like she had either just declared her undying love for smelly socks or had been touched by an Angel.

"I'm okay, right?", Maxine asked, suddenly worried that maybe she wasn't.

Toye recovered first, giving her a nod. "You're gonna be alright", he replied with conviction.

Dukeman and Frances nodded as well. "You'll be fine, Max", the young woman added.

"Well good, then quit goggling at me like that", the Washingtonian admonished, "there's a war on, you know!" Using the wall as support, she stood up, ignoring the throbbing ache of her head or the way he world and her stomach lurched in unison at the change of position.

 **.**

After being reassured that the Staff Sergeant wasn't going to collapse on the spot, Frances and Toye moved off.

"C'mon, Sarge", Dukeman said, draping one of her arms over his shoulder and looping an arm around her waist to steady her. "Let's get you to the aid station."

Maxine mumbled a distracted thanks, focusing on staying upright and putting one foot in front of the other. At least the ringing in her ears was fading.

* * *

The aid station was located inside what might have been a café or restaurant. It was surprisingly clean and well-lit, a stark contrast to the dirty, rubble-filled streets.

But just like outside, there was a battle going on inside, a fight to save the lives of the grievously injured, a fight to make the eager and battle-hungry ones stay put until their wounds had been seen to, a fight against pain and fear and death.

Still feeling a bit wobbly on her feet, Maxine docilely let Pepping lead her to an empty spot, grateful to have somewhere semi-comfortable to lie down.

"What happened?", he inquired, trained eyes already scanning her.

She told him, acutely aware of his fingers as they probed the back of her head. She hissed in a sharp breath when they hit a particularly painful spot. Otherwise, she bore his ministrations without protest, glad when he gave her a smile and said: "You'll be fine. Since it looks like we won't move out until tomorrow, I'm not gonna send you to hospital."

"Thanks, Doc", Maxine replied with a careful nod. "Appreciate it."

He nodded back and went to wash his hands. "Get some rest and call if your headache gets worse or something feels off, alright?", he advised.

"Okay." With that, she closed her eyes and tried to relax, hoping that some sleep would help the hammering in her head.

 **.**

Catherine rushed over when the door slammed open and Liebgott hollered for a medic, voice strained and razor-sharp. "Over here", she said, directing them to an empty table.

"It's Tipper", Liebgott added.

She nodded, already busy assessing her patient, trying to find all the injuries and prioritising the worst of them. "We'll take care of him", she offered, giving him a reassuring glance.

He swallowed, but nodded back before briskly leaving the building again.

Turning to the badly injured Tipper, Catherine smiled warmly. "It's okay", she said, wiping away the blood trickling from his mouth.

The morphine was doing its job and was starting to pull him under, but he was still terrified and in pain. Making sure that he wasn't about to bleed out on her, she smoothed the hair back from his forehead, just like she would when one of her kids got sick.

When his eye – singular, the other was gone – finally closed, she allowed herself a brief moment to collect herself before returning to work. She dressed the burns, splinted the broken bones, wrapped bleeding wounds and cleaned away dirt and grime.

 **.**

Mia passed her on her way to tend to Lipton, not pausing to see who her colleague was treating, too busy with all the patients they were getting. The battle was apparently coming to an end and they had more capacity to get the wounded off the battlefield.

There were cuts and bruises, concussions and broken bones. Shrapnel wounds, injured joints and ricochets. Lacerations, gunshot wounds, burns, blast injuries and missing body parts. Men were groaning and gasping, bleeding and crying, in shock and in agony.

"Hello Sarge", Mia said to Lip, wiping away the dust and blood staining his face. "What happened?"

"Got caught in a mortar blast", he answered, grimacing at the sting of the disinfectant she had doused the rag with.

She didn't miss his wince and offered a brief, apologetic smile. "Sorry", she muttered, moving on to the makeshift bandage Tab had tied around his wrist, "Iod kills the... things that cause an infection."

He managed a small smile of his own. "It's okay."

 **.**

After tending to his wounded wrist, she paused and looked at him. "Do you rather want Pepping or Roe to take care of the rest?", she asked earnestly.

It took Lipton a second before he realised what she meant. "Oh", he made, too surprised at the question to be properly embarrassed. "No, it's alright. As long as you don't mind."

Mia gave a soft, short chuckle. "I'm a medic, sir", was her response. "I don't get to choose."

Lipton had to admit that he'd expected it to be a lot more awkward. Then again, he mused, mind slightly fuzzy from a mixture of waning adrenaline and residual shock, the young half-German was always kind and friendly despite her reticence and her features never held any judgement.

He came out of his ponderings to see Mia looking at him with an expression that was part quizzical, part something he couldn't quite place.

"You alright?", she asked, breaking eye-contact to finish sprinkling sulfa onto the wound.

Lip nodded, absently watching her work. "Just thinking."

She made a small noise of acknowledgment at the back of her throat, tying the bandage and wiping her hands clean of blood. "Just don't think too much", she said, corners of her mouth curling into a little smile, "or you get headaches."

He chuckled, offering her a fond smile. "I'll try."

Mia glanced up to his face again, eyes light with humour, and advised: "Rest, evac will take a while."

* * *

Meanwhile, Theresa checked on her squad, sending Alley to look for Liebgott, who had gone off to God knows where. "If he's in a funk you can't break him out of, grab Louise", she told him, completely serious.

He gave her a funny look, but left without comment.

That taken care of, Theresa allowed herself to relax. "Right, boys, find yourself some chow and get some rest."

They were only too happy to oblige, plonking themselves down on the nearest convenient surfaces, taking off helmets, digging through their pockets for rations and fishing out canteens.

"Hey", Jessica protested when she saw Theresa wasn't following suit. "What about you?"

The Nebraskan smiled down at her. "Don't worry, I'll be back in a minute." She started walking away.

"Where're you going?!"

"If you don't mind, I'm gonna go pee!", Theresa tossed over her shoulder, leaving the squad speechless for a moment before they dissolved into giggles.


	21. Chapter 21 - Rumours and Gossip

**Hello everyone! Sorry for not updating yesterday, but I got maybe an hour of sleep on the flight home from New York and the jetlag really hit me hard, so I was too tired for pretty much anything more than watching tv and sifting through some emails etc.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's kinda short, but I really had fun writing it. Let me know what you think :)**

* * *

Frances lounged in the sun, head pillowed on her musette bag, listening to the chatter of her friends from first and second platoon. She was idly shuffling through a deck of cards, spinning and flipping the individual cards lazily. Her fingers were so familiar with the motions that they practically moved on their own. The voices of her friends a constantly swelling and dipping buzz in the background, Frances simply enjoyed the respite.

"Hey Shea", called the inimitable voice of the one and only Bill Guarnere. "Is it true?"

She slowly looked over to him, arching an eyebrow. "Is what true?", she asked back.

"The rumours."

Playfully rolling her eyes, Frances heaved a dramatic sigh and sat up. "Gonna be a bit more specific, Gonorrhoea?" She shot him a lopsided smile, gesturing with her free hand. "This is the Army, there's tons of rumours flying around."

Johnny Martin snorted and elaborated: "Rumour has it you took out a bunch of Krauts on D-Day with one bullet and a shoelace."

Frances blinked at him before bursting into peals of laughter. "That's probably the best version I've heard ever", she giggled, transferring her cards to the other hand to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes. "A bullet and a shoelace." She shook her head.

"Well, what happened then?", Ramirez questioned. "Cause some guys from Dog Company are pretty sure that you can do real magic."

The woman's eyebrows rose towards her hairline, confusion mixing with disbelief before she chuckled again. "Alright, I'll tell you, but you gotta promise not to tell anyone else", she bargained, eyes dancing with mischief. "I can't wait to find out what ridiculous stories people come up with."

The small cluster of men leant forward, eager to hear the story.

 **.**

"Okay, so after I landed and got the hell out of dodge, I bumped into Audrey Maynard. She, uh, she's a machine gunner in Fox Company. Anyway, we figured out where we were and started walking. On the way, we picked up two guys from Dog, Leelan and McDowell.  
As it happens, we ended up in a bit of a skirmish with some Krauts. There were around twenty of them and only four of us. They tried to surround us and were doing a pretty decent job backing us into a corner. We needed a distraction to make a clean get-away, so I thought a smoke bomb would come in handy. Naturally, none of us had their smoke grenades, so I had to build one."

"You built a smoke bomb?", Bull asked, his Arkansas drawl tinged with surprise and admiration.

Frances smiled, offering a light shrug. "Well, my uncle taught me all sorts of tricks", she allowed, "and it's really simple."

Johnny Martin gave her one of his patented looks and snarked: "That's easy for you to say."

"C'mon, don't leave us hanging", Ramirez complained, giving her a nudge. "Tell us the rest!"

She laughed. "Alright alright, keep your shirt on!", she placated, letting a card dance along her fingers. "I sacrificed one of my rations – no big loss there – cause I needed a container. Then, I dumped in a few sugar packets and some soap shavings. Dropped a match inside and tossed the thing off into the bushes. The Krauts thought we were in the smoke, fired that way, we ran for it and they didn't notice a thing."

Bill started cackling and clapped her on the shoulder. "This here, gentlemen", he stated, "is a goddamn genius. Sugar and soap? So much better than a bullet and shoelaces."

"Oh shut up", Frances said, flicking a card at him, making them snicker as it bounced off his nose. "I'm no genius, I just know some street magic."

 **.**

"On your feet, second platoon!" The call rang through the air, drawing a smattering of sighs and grumbles from the soldiers.

"C'mon, guys, that means you too", came the voice of Maxine from behind their little cluster. They got to their feet and began collecting their gear, reluctant to give up their comfy positions.

Johnny studied the Staff Sergeant with narrowed eyes, frowning deeply. "Aren't you supposed to be at the aid station?", he questioned.

She chuckled and shook her head, her even gaze travelling to him. "I just got my bell rung, that hasn't stopped me before", she said, mixing humour and reassurance in her tone. "I have a hard head. Besides, do you honestly think that the Docs would have let me leave?"

Her question was answered by several negatives. The medics were accustomed to dealing with stubborn and unreasonable patients and it was common knowledge by now to never argue too much with a medic because a) they definitely had more staying power and b) pissing them off was among the stupidest things one could do.

 **.**

While the NCOs mobilised their squads and the medics handled the last evacs before getting ready to move out, Louise and her spotter, Ryan Gambrill, shook hands. Gambrill was expected back at battalion headquarters and Louise was being attached to Second Platoon until the next sniper mission came around.

"Well", the stocky sergeant with the freckled face said, "it's been a pleasure, Fields."

Louise nodded her thanks. "Likewise. Shame, really, you're a swell fellow to work with."

Gambrill laughed and shrugged: "Who knows, maybe I'll volunteer next time a sniper mission pops up?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind that", the Brit responded with a teasing grin.

"Alright, pack up your gear, put out your smokes!", Lieutenant Compton called, his voice easily carrying across the square where Second Platoon was milling about. "Let's move out!"

His orders were echoed by his fellow platoon leaders, who were rallying their men.

* * *

Hours later, they were walking across another field, one that miraculously wasn't flooded.

"Bet Mia would've preferred to land in this one, huh, Reese?", Jessica mentioned to her squad leader, a smile on her lips that was just a bit too wide to be innocent.

"Really", Theresa returned, deadpan. "How do you figure?"

The blonde Marylander grinned. "Oh, only 'cause word has it she ended up smack-dab in the middle of a flooded field on D-Day", she answered cheerfully.

Theresa looked at her, tired exasperation filtering through the cracks of her unimpressed expression. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?", Jessica asked, smile crumbling into puzzlement.

"Make fun of Mia. You always mock her."

The private frowned. "Oh lighten up, Reese. It's just fun", she said.

"Do you see me laughing?", Theresa questioned. "Or more importantly: Do you see Mia laughing?"

The crease between Jessica's eyebrows deepened along with consternation. "She never complains about it", she defended herself, a touch of indignation entering her voice. "And she usually smiles whenever we 'mock' her." Her fingers raised to make quotation marks in the air.

Shaking her head, Theresa asked bluntly: "Did it ever occur to you that maybe Mia smiles because any other reaction would only give you more ammo?" Not waiting for a response, she gave her friend another look before lengthening her stride to walk with Luz and Perconte. "By the way", she added as a parting shot, "It wasn't Mia who dropped into a flooded field. It was me."

 **.**

Further back, Ana María was walking next to Pepping, listening with quiet amusement to him griping about the infernal drizzle that was soaking them to the bone. Of Easy's medics, Pepping certainly was one of the more outspoken characters who expressed his displeasure by grumbling and scowling surly.

The Puerto Rican's good mood evaporated like a puff of smoke when machine gun fire cut through the air, followed by the howling whine of artillery.

She dropped along with the rest of Easy, ignoring the cold wet feeling of mud seeping into her ODs, and started crawling towards the hedgerows ahead, noting that Pepping had bounced up from the ground as soon as the first cry for a medic went up.

 _Crazy people, those medics_ , she thought to herself. _Up and running when everyone else stays down._


	22. Chapter 22 - A Long and Miserable Night

**Hello everybody and welcome back to another chapter :) Thank you all very much for your support and comments, I really appreciate it.**

 **I'm quickly posting this chapter before I have to go get the second half of my wisdom teeth removed which, if it goes as well as last time, is unpleasant and leaves me looking like a one-sided hamster for a few days, but isn't that bad overall.**

 **Well, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Let me know what you think or if you have any ideas, wishes, requests...**

* * *

Easy traded fire with the enemy for the better part of the afternoon while they worked on fortifying their position for the night. The distant rumble of thunder that had accompanied them all day developed into an all-out thunderstorm by the time darkness fell, pouring a never-ending curtain of rain onto them, the raindrops falling so quickly that they looked like strings.

Huddled in sludgy foxholes they had dug along the roots of the hedges, the soldiers prepared for a cold, long and miserable night as the wind shook the branches and their soaked ODs clung to their skin.

 **.**

Catherine shifted as lightening split the sky, a clap of thunder rattling her bones only a few seconds later. Finding a position that satisfied even the loosest definition of comfortable was completely impossible. She was wet, cold and sore. Dirt was itching on her skin and her innards were apparently trying to strangle each other. Cold mud hit the back of her neck and trailed down her collar as Blithe climbed down from the dyke to settle into their trench.

Johnny Martin, the other occupant of the foxhole, spared the absent-minded blond a short glance before glaring sullenly into the rain-swept distance again. "What have they got to sing about?", he wondered, resentment against the Krauts ringing loud and clear in his clipped tone.

The Germans had started singing in their trenches about an hour ago, each song seemingly more disgustingly upbeat and cheerful than the one before.

The ranking medic blinked rain from her eyes for the umpteenth time, blowing out a frustrated huff. "Don't know", she replied bitterly, asking sarcastically: "Want me to ask Mia?"

He bestowed his unparalleled bitchface upon her to communicate just how unamused he was. She responded with an equally quelling look before clamping down on her own frustration and irritability, grimacing at her intestines' attempt to imitate an anaconda.

 **.**

Johnny suddenly whipped his head around, his rifle immediately at the ready when he caught sight of movement up on the dyke. Foliage rustled and he snapped: "Flash!"

The dripping wet and outrageously chipper figure of Lieutenant Welsh slid over the crest and down next to them.

"Thunder", he drawled with a smirk. "Catchy tune, ain't it?"

Relaxing his stance and sitting back down again, the sergeant bit back a caustic barb. "Hey Lieutenant. What's the news?"

"Same as it was this afternoon", Welsh said, looking pensively over to the opposite line. "They're in their hedgerow, we're in ours."

Catherine heaved a sigh after a glance at her watch, climbing to her feet. "They seem to be having a grand time of it, too", she remarked peevishly, suppressing a shudder as the change in position caused another icy trickle of water to run down her back. "I won't be long, just going to check in with the others."

Roe and Mia were doing rounds tonight and she wanted to get a sitrep from them. Already during field exercises in basic training, the medics had gotten into the habit of checking on the men each night when they were dug in. Now, in the field, they also made their rounds after a firefight. It was their way of ensuring that no injury went unattended.

 **.**

Catherine passed First Platoon's foxholes, offering silent nods to those keeping watch, noting with satisfaction that many had managed to fall asleep despite the tension hanging in the air, niggling under their skin. Walking further, making sure to stay low, she came across Louise, who was in the process of silently climbing out of her foxhole.

"You okay?", the ranking medic asked, keeping her voice at a whisper.

The sniper nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm going to see that Liebgott's alright. Reese said she was a bit worried about him. And you, are you alright?"

"I'll be better once the cramps stop."

A blonde eyebrow arched before pulling into a sympathetic frown. "How long will that be?", Louise questioned.

Catherine shrugged and heaved a frustrated sigh. "Anywhere between an hour and a day."

"One of the lucky ones then, hm?", Louise commented with a grimace. "Well, I'll be off. Feel better soon, yeah?"

Catherine just nodded and they continued on their way.

 **.**

Having gotten the sitreps from her fellow medics, Catherine walked back up the line a short time later, one hand rubbing steady circles on her lower abdomen. She had forced a magnesium tablet down her throat with a small gulp of water – Sobel's lesson about not wasting drinking water had burned itself into her mind very soundly – but until the medicine kicked in, she had to just breathe through it.

When she returned to the trench she shared with Blithe and Martin, the cramps were already diminishing and her mood had improved a little. She was still wet, cold, achy and tired, but now she could shove down the period-induced irritation and grumpiness.

Seeing that Johnny was asleep or at least dozing, she shot Blithe a small smile that wasn't returned and slid in on the private's other side. Sighing at the unpleasant squelching sound that her boots made when they hit the bottom of the trench, Catherine sat down and tried to get comfortable, or as comfortable as it got. Clutching her bag to her chest and pulling her knees up, she closed her eyes and willed sleep to come.

* * *

Further down the line, in an equally muddy foxhole, Louise was sitting next to Liebgott, their shoulders touching. When she had arrived, Liebgott's foxhole buddy Smith had left to relieve himself. Settling in the spot Smith had just vacated, the Brit leaned her rifle against the wall and studied her friend.

He was wrapped in a coat of silence and tension. His fingers played with an unlit cigarette as he stared at the opposite wall of the hole they sat in. Even with only the moon as a light source, she could see the way his lips were pressed into a thin line, how his brows were furrowed into a brooding scowl. All signs that he wasn't alright, not by a long chalk.

Louise couldn't blame him for being upset about his friend getting wounded. From what she'd heard, Tipper's injuries had been serious and extensive and judging by how he had received them, it was actually a small miracle that he was alive. He could've easily been killed by that artillery shell.

Not knowing what to say, or if she should say something at all, she fished out her zippo and held it out to him.

Liebgott contemplated it for a moment before taking it. He lit his cigarette and took a long puff from it, pushing the smoke back out of his lungs with a short, forceful burst of air. He slanted her a sideway look and offered the cigarette to her.

Louise took a drag and handed the smoke back. Exhaling, she watched as the stream of silver-grey smoke frayed, raindrops poking holes into the coiling vapour. It might have been five minutes, it might have been an hour that they huddled together in silence, trading a smoke back and forth.

 **.**

"Fuck."

Liebgott didn't elaborate on the quietly uttered curse, but it was more than enough to express his emotions.

Louise followed his lead and nodded. "Fuck", she agreed, accepting the cigarette again.

He swiped the rain from his eyes with a sharp, jerky motion and really looked at her for the first time since she'd slipped into his foxhole. He snorted and pointed out: "You have mud on your face."

She shrugged. "I have mud everywhere", she replied in a blank tone.

The ghost of his signature smirk tilted his lips. "Everywhere?", he questioned.

"Wipe that smirk of your face or I'll do it for you", Louise threatened with a smirk of her own.

Liebgott gave another snort, his grin widening a bit as he took back the cigarette.

They fell quiet again, each dwelling on their own thoughts as the wind whistled over their heads, driving squalls of rain across the soaked field.

Although they clashed occasionally – and spectacularly so thanks to their fiery tempers – and never shied away from expanding each other's abundant repertoire of insults and curses, their friendship also allowed for moments like these: Moments where they sat shoulder to shoulder, offering silent support while accepting that sometimes, things just sucked and there was nothing they could do about it right now.

 **.**

When Smith returned after what must have been an awfully long trip to some latrine-worthy bushes, Louise realised, albeit with some reluctance, that it was time to head back to her own foxhole. Nodding at Smith, she grabbed her rifle and climbed out of the hole.

Catching Liebgott's gaze that had followed her, the Brit gave him brief nod, internally smiling when he reciprocated it. Then, she walked away, letting the soaked, lightning-torn darkness swallow her.

* * *

At Second Platoon's stretch of the line, Maxine was also out and about, passing along the order that had just come down from their company XO. It wasn't one a soldier liked to hear, but it was one that had to be expected in a situation like this.

"Fix bayonets."

She didn't linger to make sure her guys obeyed. For one because she trusted them and also because she was eager to get back to her own foxhole that offered at least a modicum of protection from the driving rain and piercing wind.

 **.**

"How's the head, Max?", Bill asked, eyeing her with a watchful look.

She offered him a brief smile and replied: "Still where it's supposed to be. Headache's almost gone."

That answer seemed to satisfy because the muscles around his mouth relaxed slightly, morphing into a smirk. "Good. Wouldn't wanna lose that smart noggin' of yours."

Chuckling, the Staff Sergeant nodded to her fellow NCO, told him to get some rest and left to finish spreading the word.

 **.**

Finally, she slid into the ditch that was the foxhole she was sharing with Ranney, shivering as raindrops dripped down from the rim of her helmet in front of her eyes.

"Welsh said to fix bayonets", Maxine told him, shifting the barrel of her rifle so it didn't rest on the bruises on her shoulder.

He acknowledged with an inarticulate hum, pulling the blade from its sheath on his calf.

Wrapping her rain poncho tighter around her body, the vestiges of her concussion coupled with the cold and exhaustion loosened her tongue enough for her to voice the thought that popped into her mind. "Let's hope nobody pokes somebody's eye out", she mumbled, closing her eyes.

With Ranney's stifled giggle in her ears, Maxine soon dropped off into sleep.

* * *

It was past midnight when Bull was startled back to full alertness by a yell.

"The hell you doing?! That's Talbert!", he could hear Liebgott exclaim, voice pitched in incredulous shock.

A moan rippled through the dark air, followed by a hoarse cry for a medic.

Bull watched with no small amount of fascination as his foxhole partner went from dead asleep to up and running in less than a heartbeat. Doc Arricante's eyes snapped open and she had grabbed her satchel and was scrambling out of the foxhole before the haze of sleep had a chance to leave her features.

Pausing for the merest fraction of a second at the lip of the foxhole to locate the origin of the call, she then dashed off into the wind-battered night, her footsteps only audible when they splashed through a puddle or hit a muddy patch of soaked earth.

At least the rain had stopped.

 **.**

For the three men, Mia seemed to appear out of the darkness like a helping angel. She wasted no time, dropping to her knees beside the gasping and moaning Talbert, digging out bandages and sulfa while her eyes zeroed in on Liebgott's hands pressing down onto a wound in his friend's stomach.

"Can you breathe?", Liebgott asked, apparently not satisfied with the Sergeant's dazed answer because he asked again.

"Yeah I can breathe!", Talbert snapped.

"I didn't mean to", Smith babbled in the background, distraught gaze jumping from one person to the next and back. "He looked like a Kraut."

Working quickly to disinfect the wound and stem the bleeding with a deftly applied pressure bandage, Mia said, calm and steady: "It will be okay, Talbert. You'll be fine."

He groaned, tossing his head, his face contorted in pain. But his breathing slowed a little at the lack of urgency in her tone.

Liebgott scrutinised the young medic, trying to decipher her expression which was as composed and even as always – as far as he knew.

"Everything alright?"

They jumped at the sudden voice. Talbert's hand twitched to the gun that lay discarded by his side while Liebgott pivoted in his crouched position to face the newcomer. Smith paled even further when he recognised the person that had materialised out of the shadows.

Mia answered before any of the guys could open their mouths to form a reply. Focused on tying the bandage with blood-slick fingers, she offered: "All under control, sir. Sergeant Talbert needs an evac, but he will be fine." Pulling the knot tight, she shifted to meet Lieutenant Speirs' intense stare for a moment before turning her attention back to her patient, who was still in a considerable amount of pain.

Speirs nodded, stepped back and moved to speak to Lt Winters, who had come to see what happened.

 **.**

Giving Talbert a small smile, Mia said: "I'll give you something against the pain", fishing a morphine syrette from her satchel.

"No, no, Doc." Tab shook his head in protest. "It's okay...save it."

Her brows creased into a frown and she looked ready to object, but then she nodded. "Tell me when the pain gets worse", she said instead. "I can give it to you then."

He agreed, grimacing as his back complained about his awkward semi-upright position leaning against a tree. Without a word, the soft-spoken woman helped him sit up a bit more.

"I'm so sorry", Smith repeated for the twelfth time. "I didn't mean to."

Rolling his eyes, Liebgott grumbled: "Yeah, we know."

Mia sat back on her haunches, absently wiping her hands on her trousers. "It's already happened, Smith", she said, neither condemnation nor condescension in her tone. "He'll be fine."

"Yeah", Talbert chimed in tiredly, waving a hand in a vague gesture that could have meant 'don't sweat it' or 'get me another beer'.

Swallowing, the poor man visibly pulled himself together and reached for his rifle. "I...okay. I'll go stand watch now." With a last apologetic sniffle, he trotted off.

 **.**

Liebgott shook his head. "God damnit", he cursed, shoving a hand through his hair. He muttered something along the lines of "jumpy idiot" before rounding on Talbert. "And what the fuck were you thinking, wearing a Kraut poncho?", he demanded, glaring at his Sergeant.

Tab had the good sense to look ashamed. "Just trying to stay dry."

"Yeah, gotta say, Tab, really worked out great", Liebgott snarked with a bitter twist in his lips.

He saw the medic shake her head silently where she was knelt beside her patient. Already riled up and eager to blow off some steam, his sharp eyes bored into her and he challenged: "What? You got anything to say, Doc?"

She met his ire-filled gaze with an unperturbed, flat one. "What do you want me to say? It was no smart idea and a stupid accident, but hitting the ceiling doesn't help anyone."

The reasonable, matter-of-fact tone of her voice had Liebgott's anger draining before he knew it. He deflated, dragging a hand down his face and blowing out a weary sigh. "Shit", he then said with a snort. "I've never heard you talk this much."

Mia just smiled, chuckling softly while her eyes moved away from him to check on Talbert. The wounded man was listening, a smirk on his lips, but his eyelids were drooping and beads of perspiration were collecting on his forehead. The tension in his jaw spoke of grit teeth and she wasn't too happy with his shallow, hitched breathing, but he refused the morphine a second time when she suggested it.

* * *

Two hours after the initial call had gone up, Bull was alerted to the return of his foxhole partner by muffled footfalls, followed by a rustle of ODs and a soft thud. He wordlessly shifted to make room for the young medic, watching as the quiet woman settled against the hard, damp earth.

"What happened?"

Blue met blue and her light accent drifted through the small space between them. "Talbert got stabbed", Mia relayed in an undertone. "It was an accident."

Bull nodded in acknowledgment, asking: "He gonn' be alright?"

A yawn slipped past her lips. "Yeah, in the hospital, they will patch him back together", she assured, rubbing her eyes.

"Good."


	23. Chapter 23 - Bloody Gulch

**Hello everyone, here we are again with a new chapter.** **I'm a bit unsure about this one, to be honest, because I was experimenting a little and I'm afraid that it ended up a confusing mess with all the different POVs. Hope you still enjoy it, though :)**

 **And as always, thank you all so much for reading, reviewing and fav'ing this story. You guys are awesome!  
**

* * *

The next day began far too early. Dawn had only just brightened into pale morning when the officers briefed their platoon sergeants and squad leaders on the plan of attack. Maxine squatted beside Guarnere, peering over Buck's shoulder at his map as she listened to the lieutenant outlining their strategy.

"We don't know what they've got", Compton said, finger tracing over the map. "The intel's unclear. We may be attacking a weaker force. Maybe more paratroopers." He looked up to meet their eyes and continued: "Fire and manoeuvre, that's the strategy. Mortars are already set up on the slope there, Fields" – he fixed the woman in question with his bright gaze – "find a position on the ridge."

The sniper nodded, mumbling a confirmation.

"That's it, ladies and gentlemen", Buck finished, folding the map and pocketing it, "Dog and Fox are moving with us on our left flank. Any questions?"

A murmur of negatives went through their small cluster and the lieutenant nodded. "Alright, let's move."

Their little circle broke up as the NCOs returned to their squads. Louise gave Maxine a pat on the shoulder and was just about to say something, when a by now familiar whining whistle rang out.

"Mortar!", somebody shouted a few feet to their left.

"Down, everyone into a hole, take cover!", Maxine yelled, plastering herself against the soil as the first artillery shell hit, blowing up a fountain of dirt.

Louise scrambled to her feet and ran towards her assigned post, shoulders pulled up and knees bent to stay as low as possible.

"Find your targets!", Maxine hollered over the racket, trying to pick out muzzle flashes on the other side of the field. "C'mon, get your asses in gear!"

Louise let out a scream of frustrated anger as she flattened herself into the grass, the ground beneath her shaking with the explosions of enemy mortar fire. _How am I supposed to hit anything when the bloody Earth's rattling like that?_ , she asked herself, flinging herself down and setting up her rifle. Her heart was pumping rapidly, her pulse thumping in her ears. _Deep breath._

Slipping into the sniper breathing mode, the Brit felt and heard her heart rate slow down.

 **.**

Machine gun fire erupted as the men from the OP rushed back to the line, diving headfirst over the dykes to cover.

"Look for silhouettes on the horizon!", Lieutenant Winters' voice could be heard yelling over the chaos of the gun battle. He was hurrying down the line, spurring the soldiers into motion. "Find your targets!"

The sergeants were echoing their CO's orders, bellowing directions and encouragements to their platoons and squads. "Keep low! Pour it on them! Keep them pinned!"

Jessica, lying flat on her stomach and relatively sheltered by the small rise in the ground that they had incorporated into their fortified position, cursed under her breath as she was showered in leaves and twigs from the enemy MG fire perforating the foliage.

"Didn't anyone tell those guys that dropping trees on people is rude?!", she shouted over to Dukeman, dropping another Kraut.

"Wouldn't know!", he replied without even taking his eyes off his sights.

 **.**

"Medic!"

Sliding down so the little dyke covered her, Jessica fished out a new clip or seven to reload. She spied Mia nearby, tending to a wounded soldier – she didn't know who it was, the medic's thin body hiding the man's face from her line of sight.

Just then, a particularly heavy branch smacked her across the back, making her yelp. "Ow!", she cried more in annoyance than in pain. "Hey Doc, wanna tell your pals over there to stop shooting at trees?! It's making it damn hard to fire!"

The helmet with the red cross swivelled around and Jessica received an unimpressed glare. _So she does have another setting than 'blank-faced'_ , she thought involuntarily.

"What, would you prefer that they are shooting at people?", Mia shot back, grunting and throwing herself over her patient as another mortar shell blew up mere feet away. Blood-stained hands pressed down onto a field dressing.

"Oh wait!", she continued, feigning sudden realisation while anger and disbelief coloured her tone. "They are!"

Jessica just laughed and got back into position to pour another salve onto the enemy. "Ha! I knew you had a sense of humour!" Grinning at Dukeman, she repeated: "I knew she had a sense of humour!"

"Less talking, more shooting, Helak!", Toye snapped at her over bursts of his semi-automatic rifle.

 **.**

"Sergeants reverse!", Guarnere yelled, signalling as he spoke to alert those out of hearing range. "Cover the crest of that hill!"

The order was repeated, travelling up and down the line at lightning speed with the help of their radio operators and the sergeants' strong vocal organs.

Two female voices were among the shouts and barks of the NCOs. Theresa's voice pitched high to be heard over the infernal noise as she led her men and the clear, unyielding snap of Maxine's orders was filled with enough authority that it could put a three-star general to shame.

Muzzle flashes lit up all over in the opposing hedgerows, spitting out seemingly never-ending strings of bullets. The booms of detonating mortar shells rang through the field, shouts hanging in the air.

Then, a deeper, metallic rumble joined the noise.

"Oooh, shit", Louise muttered from her vantage point up on the ridge. Several more emphatic and inventive expletives followed as several German tanks rolled through, no scratch that, _over_ the trees, infantry accompanying the heavily armoured machines.

 **.**

Welsh shouted: "Where the hell did they come from?!"

Catherine, who had been busy keeping a badly wounded soldier alive, briefly raised her head and immediately regretted it. _Tanks!_ Her stomach hit the floor and terror gripped her throat. _Dear Lord, we're dead._

Then, her momentary panic disappeared, leaving her with only a stubborn, cool sense of absolute determination. She had a job to do and she'd be damned if she let an unspecified number of tanks stop her.

Screaming of a different kind reached her ears as she hurried down the line to respond to another call for a medic. It wasn't one of the men trying to make himself heard over the blasted ruckus or even a wounded man giving utterance to his pain. It was just continuous, wordless screaming and Catherine couldn't for the life of her tell where or who it came from.

* * *

The ground bucked and shook as the tanks advanced. In spite of the cover the massive vehicles provided, several Krauts were felled by bullets from American machine guns, M1 carbines and Louise's sniper rifle.

Ana María could barely hear the squawks of her radio over the incessant rattle and rumble, the cracks of gunshots and the yells for medics. She saw Pepping hurdling right over a foxhole in his rush to get to a patient.

A shower of dirt went down on her as a tank shell blew up about two feet away from their line. She ducked, grimacing against the earth, then listened to Luz' voice coming over the radio in between bursts of static, telling her that they had lost their left flank.

The man next to her, Parker, fell to the ground, a cry of agony tearing from his throat.

In between shouting for a medic and trying to ignore the ever advancing tanks looming on the other side of the field, she relayed the loss of their flank to Sergeant Grant.

 **.**

Frances had to quickly shift her fire when suddenly Welsh burst out into the open with McGrath on his heels, carrying a bazooka.

"What the hell are they doing?!", she cried, watching in horror as the two lone soldiers took up position in the field, seemingly unbothered by the bullets whizzing past and burying in the ground around them.

Theresa allowed herself a brief moment of wondering if their officers were going to make a habit of insanely reckless stunts like these (everyone had heard about Winters capturing and disabling those gun batteries at Brécourt Manor) before refocusing onto the battle.

"Covering fire!", she instructed her squad, hand signals reinforcing her message over the noise. "Watch their backs!"

She heard her orders echoed by Martin and Guarnere on either side of her and finished reloading.

 **.**

The first round of the bazooka hits its target, but the tank steadily continues up the small mound, the caterpillar tracks clicking inexorably as they dug gouges into the soil beneath them.

"You're gonna get me killed, lieutenant!", McGrath said, young face twisted in a mask of fearful worry. "I knew you'd get me killed!" But he didn't move, instead waited for Welsh to load the next – second, only remaining – round.

One eye on the two figures dark against the field's backdrop, Frances hoped devoutly that the lieutenant's plan payed off because otherwise? Best not think about that. She shook her head, physically forcing away the thoughts even as she squeezed off another shot, felling another Kraut.

The tank fired, the shell flying right towards Welsh and McGrath, who plastered themselves against the ground. It shredded a tree, flinging branches and javelin-like pieces of wood and bark towards the machine gunners' position in its path.

"Medic!", Liebgott hollered, seeing that Smokey and More had taken the brunt of that explosion.

 **.**

Welsh and McGrath timed the next shot perfectly. Just as the tank crossed the crest of the mound, leaving its underbelly exposed, McGrath fired. The bazooka round hit the weak underside of the tank, effectively destroying the otherwise heavily armoured vehicle.

The two soldiers high-tailed it back to their line, not keen on making targets of themselves exposed as they were.

Up on the hill, Louise covered their retreat, grumbling under her breath about "bloody nutters" and Welsh being "off his damn trolley".

* * *

Angry at the loss of one of their tanks and possibly also at the brazenness of those two Allied soldiers, the Germans took up position up on the slight mound, staying low as they poured a hail of gunfire onto Easy. Machine gunners were lying flat, only the muzzle flashes betraying them, while the infantrymen knelt, offering as small a target area as possible while also improving their stability.

Cries for a medic were ringing out all over the place as bullets and shells rained down onto Easy's position.

They retaliated, giving as good as they got, but with the Krauts having the benefit of the higher ground, they were literally fighting an uphill battle. Screams of wounded mixed with the noise of gunfire and explosions. The NCOs and officers were shouting themselves hoarse as they relocated their men, squads shifting to close gaps in the line.

 **.**

Jessica picked up a soldier that had fallen due to his leg being shot out from under him. She hauled him up and helped him hobble forward to the closest cover. The whistle of another artillery shell pierced the air.

"Down!", she called, giving him a shove. He dropped behind the wall of dirt that fortified the position, crying out in pain.

The shockwave of the explosion knocked her forward and she landed hard on her back. All the air was pushed from her lungs and black stars briefly danced in front of her eyes.

A string of Spanish profanities came from somewhere to her right.

Rolling over and getting onto all fours, Jessica blinked and shook her head before scrambling over to where the soldier lay. Luckily, the fall didn't seem to have made his wound any worse, though understandably, he was in a considerable amount of pain since the bullet had shattered his shin before exiting through his calf.

She called for a medic, impressed when Roe popped up out of nowhere almost instantly to take care of the man. Knowing that he was in good hands, Jessica reclaimed her rifle that she had lost in her tumble and returned to firing at the Krauts.

 **.**

The tide turned when suddenly, fountains of dirt blew up on the German side as well, blasts taking out tanks and men alike.

"What was that?", More wondered, sharing a look with an equally puzzled Smokey.

A few moments later, they had their answer. "Shermans!"

Reinforcements had arrived in the form of the 2nd Armoured Division, Sherman tanks rolling in. They bowled over anything in their way, nothing stopping their advance. Their mounted MGs barked as they fired salve after salve.

Cheers went up on the Allied line and they returned fire with renewed vigour.

"Ha!", Jessica crowed, pulling a fresh magazine from her musette bag and watching as a German tank was blown to pieces. "You better run, you sorry bastards!"

 **.**

Up on the hill, Louise let out a whoop, thinking to herself that this was a serious contender for the most gorgeous sight she'd ever beheld.

Redirecting her gaze to peer through her scope again, she found her next target. Inhale, half-exhale. Hold.

 _Crack!_

The recoil pushed the stock into her shoulder. The gun sling was coarse where it was wrapped around her hand. Exhale.

 **.**

Theresa didn't bother hiding a smile at Welsh's heartfelt "Oh, you beautiful babies, you!"

She turned to her squad and bellowed: "Alright, guys, let's finish this!"

* * *

Outgunned and outmanned now, the Germans were put to rout.

Some decided to try and fire a few last shots, maybe get in a last kill or two before they had to retreat. Many of them soon regretted that decision as they were killed by a gunshot or caught in a tank blast.

The Shermans took up pursuit, driving the Germans away from the battered company.

And then, the battle was over.

Cheering and laughing, still high on the combat buzz, they patted each other on the back and pulled out cigarettes.

While the medics checked on the men and began organising triage and evacs to the nearest aid station, the rest of the men and women lay back, thanked God for surviving and revelled in the feeling of being alive and having won another fight.


	24. Chapter 24 - Off the Line

Over the following three weeks, Easy Company cleared town after small town. They were sent on patrol and ended up in skirmishes and fights with the Germans on an almost daily basis, exchanging shots in those infernal hedgerows with their near-impenetrable foliage that provided fantastic cover for the enemy. Attempts to cross the fields between the hedgerows often ended in a number of casualties and the medics from both sides were fed up with being caught in the literal cross-fire as they tried to tend to the wounded.

Contrary to popular belief, quite a number of German and Allied medics worked well together. They were more interested in their patients' survival than in the colour and design of their uniform. A wounded man was given treatment, regardless which army he belonged to. There even were instances where two medics from opposing camps reached a wounded soldier at the same time and argued about who would treat him. And other times, they ended up helping each other out if one or the other lacked certain supplies or simply needed a hand.

Still, the constant fighting was taking its toll on the medics. When the rest of the company was already enjoying their well-deserved rest after another battle won, another town cleared, the medics were busy treating wounds, saving lives, setting up evacuations for their patients.

 **.**

Catherine raked a hand through her dirty hair and yawned as she exited the aid station. Her colleagues were taking care of the last patients and had practically pushed her out the door with a strict admonishment to take a break. She shuffled over to where a small cluster of Easy's First Platoon lounged.

"Hey guys", she greeted them around another yawn, sitting down next to Theresa.

A smattering of greetings echoed back.

"You look like shit, Mom", Jessica announced, grimacing at the K-ration she was eating.

The Hawaiian hummed an acknowledgement. "Tell me something I don't know." She dug through her pack for something to eat.

"So, Doc, how's Louise?", inquired Perconte.

Their resident sniper had caught a piece of shrapnel in the shoulder in the latest skirmish against the Germans, leaving her swearing up a storm as blood soaked through her OD sleeve.

Catherine snorted and answered: "Peeved. She's probably arguing with Roe about getting evacuated right now."

They chuckled, picturing the scene in their minds as the hot-tempered Brit went up against the responsible Cajun in a battle of wills.

"Is it that bad?", Christenson wanted to know.

She shook her head, opening a canned K-ration. "Nah. Besides, even if we evacuated her, she'd just go AWOL from the hospital to come back."

"Yeah, that was the first thing she said when I got to her", Theresa recounted with a laugh. "She looked at me and told me flat-out she wasn't going to the hospital. 'If they evacuate me, I swear I'll sneak off the transport' she said."

 **.**

Catherine listened to the chatter around her as she ate, quietly amused by how much the soldiers loved gossiping. Their attention was diverted when Hoobler came over, holding a squirming something in his arms.

"Hey, Catherine, can you take a look at this little guy? I think he's hurt", he asked – almost pleaded.

The mother of two had her suspicions as to what he was holding and nodded. "Sure, let me see."

And Hoobler deposited a kitten in her lap. Its fur, originally white in colour, was dark grey with dirt and grime and there was blood on its paws and hind-legs. The kitten mewled, baby blue eyes peering at Catherine as she carefully lifted it up.

"Aww, it's adorable", Jessica gushed, scooting closer. "Where'd ya find it, Hoob?"

He explained that he had practically stumbled across it on his way back from the latrine and since he'd seen the blood in its fur, he'd decided to bring it along.

The sharp gazes of Catherine and Theresa thoroughly examined the small feline and they both agreed that while it was certainly in desperate need of a bath and some cuddles, the kitten was in good health.

"Sweet!", Hoobler grinned. "Think he can be our mascot?"

"I don't know, Hoobler", Catherine replied, handing the little creature back over. "I'm not sure the brass would be happy."

He shrugged, not overly concerned. "Right, I'll get some rags and then I can give him a bath", he decided, already scampering off towards the aid station to ask for some gauze.

 **.**

The kitten, eventually named Bert for some reason, stayed with Easy for a grand total of two days, travelling in the various pockets of various members of the company. Until one of the officers discovered the feline stowaway and ordered whoever was responsible for the kitten to get rid of it.

Hoobler left Bert in the care of a farmer's children, the three kids delighted by the new pet.

Eugene Roe, who had accompanied the corporal to serve as a translator, smiled as he translated the children's excited jabbering. "They promise to look after him and say that we can visit anytime to check on Bert."

Hoobler stifled a snort and waved goodbye to the kids, the two soldiers turning to re-join their unit.

"What did you tell them?", he wanted to know.

The Cajun medic gave him an odd look. "That we'll visit after the war", he answered.

They walked in silence the rest of the way.

* * *

They were nearing the end of July when they crouched in the bushes outside another small town on D-Day plus 25. Battalion wanted to know the contents of a building tucked away in the shelter of the dense vegetation.

Jessica tried to subtly shift her weight since her leg was slowly going numb beneath her. Nobody moved while Welsh conferred quietly with Lt Nixon, the two of them peering through the foliage at their objective.

Their platoon leader turned, staying low and said, voice clipped: "Need to look at that farmhouse. Who wants to go?"

Awkward silence spread as everyone evaded the lieutenant's gaze, looking anywhere but him.

Blithe rose. "I'll go", he offered softly.

"Anybody else?" Welsh paused, scanning the soldiers, before sighing and assigning: "Martin, Helak, you just volunteered. Hubba hubba."

Swallowing back a curse, she got up, joining Johnny and Blithe, the latter volunteering to be in the lead. They crept through the thick undergrowth, Jessica and Johnny taking a knee while Blithe moved ahead to an upturned cart about halfway between their platoon and the building.

 **.**

Jessica scanned the abandoned farmhouse, an uneasy feeling in her gut. She had her rifle at the ready, but she didn't see anything suspicious, which made her all the more uneasy. Up ahead, Blithe shifted and raised a hand to signal them forward.

 _Crack!_

Out of nowhere, a shot rang out. Blithe fell.

"Fuck!", Jessica hissed.

"Covering fire!", Lt Welsh was hollering. Their fellow platoon members opened fire.

Johnny clapped her on the arm. "Go, go!"

They rushed to their fallen comrade. Each of them grabbed a handful of Blithe's webbing and together, they hauled him back to their line while rifles barked around them.

"Hang in there, Blithe", Jessica panted.

Welsh cried: "Medic up!"

 **.**

They dropped to their knees as soon as they were back at their original position.

"Medic!", Martin shouted. "We need a medic down here!"

Jessica fished out her aid kit, eyes riveted to the blond. He had lost his helmet. Blood was gushing from a wound to the side of his neck. Distantly, she heard Welsh shout: "Cease fire!"

"Take it easy, Blithe, take it easy", Johnny muttered, pouring sulfa onto the wound with shaking hands. "C'mon Helak, come on", he urged.

Jessica's fingers fumbled with the bandage as she went to press it against the wound in an effort to slow the bleeding. "Hang in there, Blithe", she repeated. She couldn't take her eyes of the alarming amount of blood already soaking through the collar of his ODs. He gasped for air.

Rapid footsteps heralded the arrival of a medic. "Outta my way", a familiar drawl ordered.

Jessica was all too happy to step back and give Doc Roe the space he needed to work.

"I got it", he said, taking over applying pressure.

 **.**

She tore her gaze away from the scene before her.

Roe was speaking to Blithe, a stream of soothing nothings. "I got you, Blithe, nice and easy. You'll be okay."

Her fingers were slick with blood. Blithe's strangled breaths filled her ears. She felt sick.

Her blue eyes travelled to the decrepit farmhouse that hadn't been abandoned after all. Her stomach roiled and something burned in her chest. Her hands held her rifle in a white-knuckled grip. Her jaws clenched so tightly that her teeth ached and her nostrils flared as a wave of pure hatred rose up inside her.

She had sworn to make the Nazis pay for what they had done to her father's beloved Poland. Now, she swore to make them pay for each of her friends and comrades that they had killed.

* * *

They were taken off the line the same day. First, they pulled back to Carentan. The town was in much the same state as they had left it in; houses demolished, rubble and debris strewn across the street. There wasn't much to do apart from sitting or lying around and waiting for transport to a field camp like Winters had promised.

Maxine found herself a nice spot on the steps of what might have been the town hall at some point. It overlooked the town square and the warm sun was a welcome change from the infernal drizzle that had plagued them for the most part of their time in Normandy. She slumped down, too tired to even spare a thought about what an ungainly sight she must be, and leaned back with a heavy sigh.

It didn't take long for others to join her.

First was Ana María, the diminutive Puerto Rican's tan barely noticeable under the layers and layers of dust and grime. Forrest Guth came next, collapsing onto the steps with a groan and closing his eyes. He was asleep seconds later. Alley flopped down, his helmet landing on the stairs with a soft clunk as he tipped his head back to soak in the sun. And lastly, Louise appeared quietly and sat down next to her, absently rubbing her sore shoulder while she dug out a cigarette with the other hand.

Nobody spoke at first, everyone just content to lie there and not move unless absolutely necessary for a while.

"I hope they have showers at the camp", Ana María mumbled eventually, wincing as her fingers hit countless snags and knots when she ran them through her dark hair.

Alley gave an inarticulate hum of agreement and added a muffled "And hot food" around a mouthful of K-rations.

 **.**

Their wish was only partly fulfilled when the trucks brought them to the field camp north of Utah beach. It was packed with wounded. Many lay in the infirmary that was chock-full with stretchers and cots. But just as many were walking wounded, some shuffling slowly or shakily, others ambling around seemingly unbothered by their injuries. To the newcomers, it seemed as if everyone wore bandages of some kind.

The medics, dutiful as always, stumbled off their transport, dead tired like everybody else, and sternly ordered their patients that could walk to make their way to the infirmary and to stay put until their injuries had been seen to. Those that were too weak or badly injured to walk were carried away on stretchers.

With varying degrees of pride, relief, amusement and satisfaction, Lieutenants Winters, Welsh and Compton observed the women of Easy. Of the twelve that had boarded the C-47s on the eve of D-Day, eight had made it. In the other companies of the battalion, the statistics looked much grimmer.

Dog Company had lost two of its three women. Only Esther Bowman had made it out of the plane alive before it had been shot down. She had linked up with members of her company mere hours later, arriving in the assembly area at nightfall of June 6.

And in Fox Company, the death toll of female soldiers was highest. Out of nine women, just two had survived the jump, Cassandra Jessup and Audrey Maynard. Unfortunately, Jessup had been critically injured in the Battle of Bloody Gulch and from what they knew, her chances of returning to combat were slim.

* * *

The officers weren't the only ones watching the female soldiers. A war-time reporter also had his eyes on them, studying them and taking notes.

Felix Arbogast had been wounded by flying shrapnel and was still awaiting passage to England – much like everyone else on the beach. But since patients with more serious injuries were, understandably, given precedence, he had decided to make use of his time. It was fascinating to watch as the by now famed Easy Company disembarked off the trucks and it was even more intriguing to see the women interact with the men. There was no unease or awkwardness, just steady trust and familiarity like it was only found in combat.

Staff Sergeant Lloyd was shooing her squad off to grab some food. The promise of hot chow that actually came close to being palatable had even the grumpiest and most tired soldiers perking up. But her smile couldn't chase away the signs of weariness in her slender frame.

Corporal Nolan and Private Helak were dragged along to the mess by their squad as well. If it weren't for the length of their hair, it would have been impossible to discern between them and the rest of the men. They were all equally dirty and battle-worn.

Private Shea practically tumbled off the truck, a tall, broad-chested man steadying her when her knees buckled upon hitting the ground. She smiled up at him even as she rubbed her eyes that were no doubt burning with the desire for sleep.

Corporal Hernandez adjusted the strap of her radio and smirked at something a fellow radio operator said. The small woman yawned as she joined other members of her platoon, fitting seamlessly into the group.

Private Wilson was overseeing the unloading of the wounded. Her ODs were caked with mud, dust and blood and yet, she still managed to look kind and gentle while speaking to one of the patients, brushing his hair back from his forehead in a soothing motherly gesture.

And last but not least, Sergeant Fields was being led towards the medical tents by Corporal Arricante. The sniper, who had a reputation for being hot-tempered and sharp-tongued, was surprisingly docile. Though Felix wagered that the young medic's unreadable smile and the uncompromising way in which she steered the other woman away might have had something to do with it.

 **.**

"Enjoying the show?"

Felix jumped and nearly fell off his seat. Blinking owlishly, he looked up and gulped as he found himself facing a group of rather intimidating soldiers. "Um..."

The men plopped themselves down around him. Their mismatched expressions – some wore deep, menacing scowls while others smiled toothily – only served to heighten his unease.

"Now", one of the men began, arching an eyebrow. "Gonna answer the question?"

"I..."

The brown-haired man across from him held up a hand and placated: "Easy, Skinny." Still, his blue eyes turned to Felix, regarding him expectantly.

Felix swallowed, his collar feeling uncomfortably tight all of a sudden. "I was just-", he started before abandoning his initial response and saying: "-taking notes." Met with several unimpressed looks, coupled with a few sharp frowns and glares, he hurried to add: "I'm a war correspondent for the Washington Post, you know?"

That didn't appease the suspicious NCOs too much.

"And what, you're taking notes so you can write another slam piece about the women in our battalion?", the Staff Sergeant with the scary glare challenged, his voice biting.

He rapidly shook his head. "N-no, I swear, I never wrote anything bad about them. I have total respect for them."

The smile he received from the fellow with the dark hair and eyes was just a little too wide for his comfort. "So what did you write down then?", the man asked innocently.

Felix simply handed over the notes he'd taken on his observations. The men crowded around the little booklet, reading over each other's shoulder and muttering amongst themselves.

 **.**

Eventually, the man holding the notebook – a stocky guy with a distinctive jawline – let out a short, sharp laugh that startled Felix and declared in a nasal accent: "Seems like you're an alright sort."

"Erm, thanks?" Really, what could he say to that? This entire encounter was far too bizarre and nerve-wracking for him.

"So long's there's no more muckraking, we're happy", the one with the cheerful grin commented, shrugging easily.

He nodded. "I never agreed with those articles", he asserted, taking his notebook back. "I promise, I won't write anything like that. I just want to report the truth."

"Good", said the man with the gravelly voice who had first spoken.

His comrade with the bright blue eyes elaborated: "These women are heroes, end of story. They made it this far on their own merit, fair and square. They don't deserve any of the slander the papers have put them through."

His friends agreed, the group of NCOs nodding emphatically.

 **.**

"Alright, break it up, boys", a laughing voice spoke behind them.

Felix watched in awe as the threatening stances and expressions melted away when the Easy men turned around to face their acting ranking medic.

"Just coming to an understanding, Mom", the man with the prominent jaw offered.

Catherine Wilson snorted and gave him a look that told him she had seen right through that vague obfuscation. "Yeah right, Guarnere, pull the other one", she said, a fondly exasperated smirk on her lips. "Stop bothering the man and get your asses to the mess tent."

"Yes, Ma'am", the cheerful man with the dark eyes grinned, saluting her in jest.

She rolled her eyes at him and shooed them off. "C'mon, get going. Unlike you, there's people who still got work to do." Looking at Felix, she smiled and said: "I'm sorry, I hope they didn't bother you too much. They're good men and only want to look out for us."

He weakly waved his hand. "It's alright", he muttered.

"Well then, I have to get back to work", she said. "Take care." And then she was gone, vanished in the constant bustle of the camp.


	25. Chapter 25 - Respite

**Hey guys! So...I'm still alive. I'm sorry for going off schedule, not updating last week and only posting something now. University and just life in general have gotten in the way. I haven't had much time to write because of all the other stuff I have to do (bachelor thesis, aaaaah!), but hopefully, I can get some writing done this weekend. Let's just hope my muse agrees...**

 **Anyways, thank you all for your patience, for your reviews and just for reading this story. I hope you like this chapter :) And as always, if you have any suggestions or ideas for the story, let me know.**

* * *

Luz grinned gleefully as Louise joined their little group where they were lounging in the sun, eating a wonderful hot meal that actually tasted halfway decent. The blonde's OD shirt was open, flapping in the light breeze and revealing a slightly less grimy T-shirt underneath. Bandages peeked out from underneath the collar and bunched under the blood stains on the front of the shoulder.

"They let you go then?", he teased.

She smiled at him, balancing a plate of food in her right hand as she sat down. "Yes", she responded, shifting to get comfortable without spilling anything. "It's all healing nicely and the bandages should come off in a week or so."

The men expressed their relief, mostly through nods, smiles or the occasional "That's good".

Bull, who sat on her other side, offered: "Glad to hear that. Shoulder injuries can be tricky."

"Yeah, so I've heard", Louise chortled, shovelling a bite of her meal into her mouth and sighing blissfully as she chewed.

Exhausted as they all were, there wasn't the usual level of rambunctious talk and loud merrymaking going on. Instead, everyone was just content to sit around, eat and let conversation flow at a trickle, a comment here and a joke there.

All too soon, their plates were empty and a different form of tiredness encompassed them. Heaving themselves to their feet – and sometimes helping each other – the group returned their dishes and then made their way towards the tents where Easy was bunked. Although they all wanted a shower, sleep had replaced food at the top of their priority list. And so they simply toppled onto the nearest free bunk, most of them asleep before their heads hit the pillows.

* * *

Morning found Theresa waking up more refreshed than she could remember being in a long time. She sat up and took a moment to just stretch, stifling a groan as vertebrae and joints popped and several aching muscles made themselves known. Judging by the dim, greyish light filtering in underneath the tent walls, it was still quite early.

Running a hand through her hair, Theresa pulled a face. Breakfast could wait. First, she needed a shower.

On her way to the showers, she ran into Esther Bowman from Dog Company.

"Morning", the other woman greeted. "Gonna get cleaned up?"

"Yeah. My uniform could probably stand on it's own, it's so dirty", Theresa replied, wrinkling her nose.

Esther laughed. "Mine too. I can't wait to get rid of all the mud and grime. And I think I still have pieces of brick wall in my hair."

They shared a look of silent commiseration, rounding the corner to the shower stalls.

"Hey, would you mind waiting for me?", Esther asked, biting her lip. "I promise I'll hurry."

"Sure, no problem. Take your time, Lord knows we gotta enjoy it whilst we can."

"True. Thanks." Esther smiled and slipped into the shower after checking that it was indeed empty.

 **.**

Not five minutes later, Theresa was joined by Frances and a sleep-rumpled Audrey Maynard. The two women, who had fought together on D-Day, got along splendidly due to their similar easy-going natures.

"Good morning, Reese", Frances said, smiling brightly like the sun rising on the horizon.

Audrey mumbled something along the same lines, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Hi", Theresa replied, returning the smile. "Esther's already inside, so if you want to join her, I'll stand guard."

"Don't be silly", Frances waved off cheerfully, "go on, you two, I'll wait."

She wouldn't hear any of Theresa's protests and practically pushed the two women into the shower. "Hey Esther!", she called upon opening the door. "Don't worry, it's just Theresa and Audrey. I'll play lookout outside!"

The woman's melodious laughter wafted through the pattering of the shower as she called back: "Thanks for the heads up, Frances!"

 **.**

To an outsider, it might have looked as if the women had planned it, but it really was pure coincidence. Esther had just finished and was getting settled outside to guard the showers when Ana María showed up.

"You can go in", Esther told her, running her comb through her wet hair in an effort to detangle the tight curls. "Theresa, Audrey and Frances are inside."

The Puerto Rican smiled, her white teeth gleaming in contrast to her dirt-smudged face, and thanked her before entering.

Esther chuckled to herself as she heard her announce her presence and the other women respond.

 **.**

"Hi, Esther."

"Good morning, Esther."

She looked up and answered: "Morning Jessica, Maxine." Before she could tell them what she had already told Ana María a scant few minutes ago, the door to the showers opened and Audrey stepped outside, looking much more awake.

"G'morning", the New Zealander said, "go ahead, we'll stay here."

They didn't need to be told twice, both just as eager as the rest of them to enjoy the luxury of a nice, warm shower.

Audrey sat down and set about braiding her dark hair into a neat plait. "So", she asked, "who's left?"

Esther counted on her fingers, tallying up the women. "Only Louise, Mia and Catherine", she concluded.

 **.**

She had to amend her headcount seventeen seconds later when they spotted Louise coming their way. The blonde sniper wished them a good morning and thanked them for standing guard before quickly heading into the showers, saying hello to Theresa and Frances who passed her on their way out.

"That leaves the two medics", Audrey stated.

"To do what?", Frances inquired, stretching with a happy groan while Theresa shook water out of her ears.

"To shower", the woman from Fox Company explained. "The rest of us ladies is here."

Mentally counting heads, Theresa agreed. "Hm, I haven't seen them since yesterday", she frowned.

Frances scratched her nose. "Come to think of it, me neither."

None of Easy's women had seen the two medics in the tents or anywhere else around camp.

"I don't think they've left the infirmary tents", Theresa ventured. "Because I haven't seen Roe or Pepping either."

Jessica clicked her tongue. "Well, let's go grab some food", she suggested. "Then we can worry about everything else."

* * *

Arriving at the mess tent, Audrey and Esther joined their friends from their respective companies. The rest of the women went to get breakfast, then looked for a free table where they could sit.

"Ah", Louise made, motioning towards the back of the large room with a jerk of her chin. "There they are."

Easy's combat medics were all slumped at a table, exhaustion etched into their forms to varying degrees.

Catherine yawned every few seconds and was obviously struggling to keep her eyes open as she ate with a single-minded focus. Roe had his head propped up on his hand and was pushing his food around on the plate. Pepping seemed the most awake of the group, but only by little. His movements were mechanical and lacklustre, his eyelids on half-mast, and Mia was clutching a cup of coffee in her hands, staring absently into the black beverage, her short hair even messier than usual.

Their consciousness blanketed in hazy, soft nothingness, they were content to just sit there and enjoy the quiet, not bothering to try and force too many thoughts to slowly, sluggishly make their way through the molasses of their over-tired minds.

 **.**

"My my, ain't you the life of the party."

If they'd had the energy, the four medics would have rolled their eyes or groaned at the mention of just how wiped out they felt. Catherine flicked dark-ringed eyes up to see Jessica grinning at them, the rest of the women behind them wearing expressions ranging from amusement to concern.

"Like you'd look much better", Pepping grumbled.

The women laughed and claimed the free seats around them.

"Well, you aren't exactly a lively bunch, are you?", Luz proclaimed exactly twenty seconds later, sitting down in a clatter of cutlery, several of their friends following suit.

This time, two of the medics actually found the energy to groan. Pepping buried his head in his arms. George Luz' buoyant personality was just too much in the morning, especially when they hadn't slept a wink since getting off the trucks. Add that to the general lack of sleep they were suffering from after nearly a month in the field and so much cheer and energy was simply unnerving.

Maxine regarded the bone-weary medics critically before suggesting: "You should hit the hay when you're finished. You can surely use the rest."

"Mhm", Catherine hummed, making no move to stand up despite having cleared her plate.

Mia mumbled something under her breath that had Liebgott spluttering as coffee shot up his nose from laughing too hard. A tiny, drowsy smile ghosted across her face.

 **.**

It took another ten minutes for the medics to scrape up enough energy to pull themselves to their feet, dispose of their dishes and shuffle off to bed. The regular soldiers watched them go before they looked at each other and simply nodded in an unspoken agreement. Their Docs were real troopers, in every sense of the word.

Even with the very valid and enticing option of sacking out and letting others do their work, they had stayed and helped patch up the countless wounded, sacrificing their own well-deserved, desperately needed rest.

And when Catherine and Mia approached Malarkey, Muck and Penkala six hours later, the former asking if one of them would mind standing guard in front of the showers to make sure nobody else walked in, the trio didn't hesitate for even a second.

"Anything for you guys", Malarkey said with a sincere smile.

Skip nodded and declared: "Anything for our medicos" while Penkala said: "That's right."


	26. Chapter 26 - Mail Call

**This chapter is me trying out something new. Let me know how you like it :) Brownie points to anyone who knows what inspired me to this (the title is a clue).**

 **On another note: There won't be an update next week. I'll have my hands full working on my bachelor thesis... Hope you understand. But the week after that, I should hopefully be back to a normal schedule with updates on Wednesdays** _._

* * *

 _Dear Mom and Dad, dear David and Fabian_

 _Thank you for your last letter. It was great reading news from home while we were marching all over Normandy (or at least it felt like it), fighting the Krauts nearly every day and having no idea of what's going on in other places. There are a lot of rumors, but often, nothing concrete._

 _I have news, too. We are finally off the front lines! You know how they told us that we would be relieved after 4 days of fighting? Well, that obviously didn't happen. No surprise there._

 _But now, we're back in England. We got all our back pay, two new uniforms AND a 7-day pass. I'm actually writing this letter from London. We're the first ones back and everybody is so welcoming. They treat us like heroes and there's plenty of food and drink around._

 _Unfortunately, I also have bad news. Elizabeth, my best friend, has been missing ever since the jump and a few days ago, it was confirmed that the plane she'd been in had been shot down before anyone could get out. I miss her, but I promised that I'd kill as many Germans for her as possible. And I've had lots of opportunity to avenge her._

 _We – that is the girls and I - have also written to her family, even though I know Elizabeth wasn't close to them. We just thought maybe they would appreciate hearing from a friend of hers instead of getting a form telegram and letter from the War Department. We all promised to do this should something happen to one of us._

 _I have to go; my friends are calling me. I miss you all very much and I am looking forward to hearing from you, soon. David and Fabian, I hope you don't give Mom and Dad too much trouble. I'm proud of you boys and keep up the good work in school, you're doing great._

 _Lots of love_

 _Jess_

* * *

 _Dear Sam_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. How have you been? It has been a while since I last heard from you, but I imagine the Air Force isn't much quicker with delivering mail than the Army. And you're possibly just busy. Lord knows I have been these past few weeks. I would have to think very long and very hard to remember the last time I got some proper rest._

 _But I expect that will soon be remedied. We've been pulled off the line a few days ago and have been shipped back to England! We all received a seven-day pass, so I have more than enough time to sleep and relax. Most of our company stepped off the transport and got right onto the train to London, but I didn't join. They might call it R &R or fun, but I didn't see the appeal in a week-long celebration. I decided to stay on base and just enjoy the peace and quiet for a while._

 _Thank you for the puzzles you sent me last time. I didn't have much time to look at them, but I keep them on me because you know how it is – sometimes, your biggest worry aren't bullets or shells, but plain old boredom. You'll find that I have returned the favour and sent you a few puzzles, too. I hope they keep you entertained during a lull._

 _Be safe, dear brother, and don't forget which way is up._

 _Your sister_

 _Reese_

* * *

 _My dearest Warren_

 _It's good to hear that you are well and I am so happy for you and your father that business is flourishing. Mother sounded quite concerned in her last letter, she mentioned that you seemed troubled and withdrawn when she last saw you and worried that you might have taken ill._

 _For my part, I am doing well, too. More than well, in fact. We have finally been taken off the front lines and have returned to England. We arrived yesterday and since we were all given a seven-day pass as well as our back pay, the majority of my company – or battalion even – have decided to head straight to London to celebrate our safe return._

 _And so, I find myself writing to you amidst the laughter and merrymaking of my friends. The locals have given us a heroes' welcome and I'm afraid that there is quite a number of massive hangovers impending in the near future. Oh well, I do believe we more than deserve to have a bit of fun. The past few weeks have been tough and we are all just happy to be alive and healthy._

 _Please give my best to your parents and your sister Penelope. Also, please make sure to extend my congratulations to Penny for her nuptials and my sincerest well-wishes. May she enjoy a long and happy marriage._

 _I love you very much, my dearest Warren, and not a day has gone by that I haven't thought of you. Often was your face the last thing I saw before I fell asleep._

 _Yours_

 _Maxine_

* * *

 _Dear Mrs Griffith_

 _My name is Frances Shea and I am writing to you in the name of the women of Easy Company. By now, you have most likely been informed by the War Department that your daughter, Helen, has been killed. We are all truly sorry for your loss and wanted to offer our condolences. In basic training, us women made a promise to write to each other's families should something happen to us._

 _Helen and I were good friends and she spoke very fondly of you. Your daughter got along with everyone in the company. Many times, her sense of humour and witty comments made us laugh until our sides hurt. She often joked about how she must be either stupid or crazy to have signed up for the paratroopers since she was afraid of heights. Let me tell you, Ms Griffith, Helen was far from stupid. Crazy? Maybe a little, but I think all of us are. Because really, who in their right mind would sign up to jump out of moving airplanes?_

 _In the envelope, there is another letter, written by Helen. I don't know when she wrote it, but she mailed it to one of the local women she had made friends with for safe-keeping._

 _We all miss Helen and we will keep her jokes and relaxed smiles in our memory._

 _Yours sincerely_

 _Frances Shea, Jessica Helak, Theresa Nolan, Ana María Hernandez, Louise Fields, Mia Arricante, Catherine Wilson, Maxine Lloyd_

* * *

 _Liebe Mama, Lieber Papa_

 _Lieber Jonas und Sebastian, Liebe Katharina und Letizia_

 _I hope you are all healthy and happy. I'm okay. Sleep-deprived, but unhurt. We aren't on the front lines anymore! They promised us that we would only have to fight for 3 days and 3 nights, but in the end, we were in France for almost 4 weeks._

 _The drop into Normandy was terrifying. We received airsickness pills just before we took off, which is odd because we have never had a problem with airsickness before. The pills made me feel strange, tired and dizzy._

 _That didn't help on the actual jump. It was pitch dark except for the flashes of the anti-aircraft gunfire, tracer ammunition and burning planes. It was so loud and confusing. I landed alone, had lost a lot of my gear and had of course no weapons. I don't remember it that clearly, especially not what came after that. It's all very hazy. The next clear memory I have is trying to figure out where I was, but that was close to noon._

 _Have you heard something from Aunt Sophie? How is she holding up? I hope Uncle Stephan and Rolf and Adrian are alright._

 _I love you all and already look forward to your letter._

 _Alles Liebe_

 _Mia_

* * *

 _Dearest Roger_

 _I'm sorry that I couldn't write any sooner. A lot has happened and mail doesn't get delivered too quickly around here. I hope you are doing okay and that everything is alright back home. Hopefully, Gwen and Tommy aren't giving you and Gillian too much trouble?_

 _I miss you very much, my love. Now that we're back in England (after nearly a month on the front lines), I suddenly have time to dwell on these thoughts and feelings of homesickness and longing. I'll try not to let them overwhelm me. Though I'm sure that the Army will do its part in helping me with that... This won't be the last we've seen of this war and I'm sure training will resume as soon as the week is up and everyone is back._

 _War is both just like I imagined it and completely different. I don't really know how to explain it. It is loud and dirty and frightening, terrible, chaotic and brutal. But, I hardly dare say it, there are also good things that come from it. Being in battle has forged our company together even closer and it has inspired some heroic and incredible actions. Though some of them might also be considered reckless and insane._

 _I think you can guess that I don't really know what to say. I boarded that plane on the eve of D-Day, hoping to survive but not expecting it. The drop was a mess and it took me nearly a day to find my company's assembly area. So many of us didn't make it. Then, with all the fighting we did, I was surprised every time that I hadn't been injured or killed. Fast forward three weeks and here I am, back across the Channel._

 _Tell Gwen and Tommy that I love and miss them very much. I'm very proud of them and I loved their last letter and picture. I hope, the two are doing well. Give my little moppets a big kiss and cuddle from me. I'll be sending along a parcel with gifts for all of you. I couldn't exactly spend four days in London with all my backpay in my pocket and not buy anything for my family, could I?_

 _Lots of love and kisses_

 _Your Catherine_

* * *

 _Queridos Mamá y Papá, queridos Julia y Joaquín_

 _A lot has happened since I last had time to write. We fought the Germans, spent many nights in foxholes and cleared town after town. We lost a lot of good men and we lost four good women, too. Elizabeth, Irene, Helen and Kathleen. I spoke a prayer for them when we heard the news and I wanted to ask if you could light a candle for them next Sunday?_

 _But not everything is bad. We had a mascot for a while. His name was Bert and he was a tiny white kitten. Hoobler had found him one day, all dirty and alone. Sadly, we couldn't keep him for long because kittens don't belong in a company of paratroopers. So we left Bert with the children of a local farmer. They were quite happy to have a new pet, though, so I think he'll be perfectly fine._

 _We have returned to England yesterday and it is so good to be back. The peaceful, friendly town is like a patch of Heaven. Most of my company are up in London, celebrating life now that we are back safe and healthy. I didn't join them because all I wanted to do was sleep. And I wouldn't have had much chance to do that in London. I would have been too busy eating, drinking and dancing._

 _I miss you all terribly and I hope you are all doing well. Julia, Joaquín, give Mamá and Papá a big hug from me, will you?_

 _Con todo mi amor,_

 _Ana_

* * *

 _Dear Mr Pletcher_

 _My name is Maxine Lloyd and I am writing to you on behalf of the women in Easy Company. We have never met, but I had the honour of serving with your wife, Irene. I am deeply sorry for your loss, Irene was a wonderful woman. She was smart and well-liked, a brilliant athlete and a respected squad leader._

 _We all loved Irene for her dedication and skill, for her honesty and friendliness. She was calm under pressure and always knew when to be strict and when to be lenient. She truly was a born leader. We will all miss her dearly._

 _Please accept our sincerest condolences and we hope it gives you a small measure of comfort that we can honestly say that knowing your wife was a pleasure, an honour and a privilege._

 _Yours sincerely_

 _Maxine Lloyd, Frances Shea, Louise Fields, Catherine Wilson, Jessica Helak, Mia Arricante, Ana María Hernandez, Theresa Nolan_

* * *

 _Dear Dad, dear Andrew_

 _How are you? Is Aunt Lola still on your case about finding a nice girl, Andy? How is Uncle Archie's 'business' going? I hope he's keeping out of trouble._

 _Well, on our end, things are looking up. We've been taken off the front lines – hallelujah! We're back in England and right now, I am in London, surrounded by my friends and what looks like all the alcohol and food the city has to offer. It's a lot like our family gatherings, only in uniform and with far less magic tricks._

 _Have you ever thought about how many things we take for granted? I realised that when I took my first shower in more days than I can count after we moved to a field camp. I don't think I have ever enjoyed a shower this much._

 _Dad, you said in your last letter that I was vague in my response when you asked if I hate the Germans. Let me see if I can put it a bit more clearly. I hate that the enemy soldiers killed many of my friends. I hate that Hitler has brought death and destruction to so many people. But do I hate the German people as a whole? No. I can't judge an entire population based on the actions of some of them. Besides, one of my friends, Mia Arricante, grew up in Germany. If anything, she's living proof that not all Germans are evil._

 _In any case, I hope that this war is soon over. Please tell Uncle Archie and Aunt Lola I said hi and that I'm doing well. Give my best to Flora and Rachel._

 _Love_

 _Frances_

* * *

 _Dear Gramps,_

 _Dear Hazel, Jimmy, Anna, Melvin and Charlie_

 _Guess what? I haven't died and now we're back in England. Finally. I wish I could say I got through the whole operation without a scratch on me, but then I'd be lying. No need to worry, though, it wasn't too serious. I just caught some shrapnel in the shoulder. It smarted quite a bit, but it's healing nicely and I'll be right as rain in no time at all. Especially since we all got a seven-day pass and I'm fully planning on spending much of that time asleep or at least resting._

 _The drop on D-Day was positively dreadful. I almost landed in a flooded field, though I had more luck than my friend Theresa. She landed smack-dab in the middle of one. It took me a few hours to reach our assembly area and as soon as I got there, we moved out again. We were a squad of twelve or thirteen, but orders had come down to capture some German cannons firing upon the beach. It sounds completely mad, but thanks to our CO's tactical brilliance, we did it._

 _I could fill many a page if I detailed every crazy, reckless and hare-brained stunt and scheme that members of my unit – including the officers! – have pulled. But I figured that it would be futile anyway, what with the censors and all. Oh well, I'll write down one of them and send it with this letter. Let me know how much it resembles a doily when it reaches you._

 _Take care of yourselves and don't forget to say hello to Gran for me when you visit her next._

 _Love_

 _Louise_

* * *

 _Dear Mr and Mrs Preston_

 _My name is Mia Arricante and I am writing to you about your daughter, Kathleen. By now, you have probably been informed of her death. We, the women of Easy Company, wanted to offer you our sincerest condolences. We are very sorry for your loss. Kathleen was one of us and we miss her._

 _Your daughter was a great woman, Mr and Mrs Preston. She was smart and well-read, friendly and funny. She always had at least one book with her and she was always happy to talk about it. I'm sure you know how Kathleen sometimes accidentally said something a bit tactless or insensitive. Whenever that happened, she would quickly apologise and laugh about how you, Mr Preston, would always say that she lacked a filter between her brain and mouth._

 _I won't burden you with the details of Kathleen's death unless you wish to know. However, her last thoughts were of you, as were her last words. She asked me to tell you that she loves you very much, that she's sorry to cause you pain and that she's going to a happy place._

 _It was an honour and a privilege to serve with your daughter. I'm sure that wherever Kathleen is now, she is happy and most likely surrounded by the books she loves so much._

 _Yours sincerely_

 _Mia Arricante, Louise Fields, Ana María Hernandez, Catherine Wilson, Maxine Lloyd, Frances Shea, Theresa Nolan, Jessica Helak_


	27. Chapter 27 - Returns and Replacements

**Hey guys. I'm so, so sorry for not updating yesterday, I feel terrible. I promised to update on Wednesday and to return to my original posting schedule and yet, here I am, already a day late again... I really planned on uploading the next chapter yesterday, but then I started working on my bachelor thesis and went to rehearsal and suddenly, it was 11 pm and I was dead tired.**

 **Instead of making more promises that I'm not sure I can keep, I'll just leave it at this: I do my best to update once a week, but when life gets in the way (as it usually does), there might only be a chapter every two weeks. I hope you're not too disappointed or cross...**

 **Thank you all for being so patient and, of course, for reading this story :) If you have any ideas, suggestions, wishes as to what should/could happen in the future chapters, leave me a comment or a PM :)**

 **Okay, now enough from me and on with the story.**

* * *

The seven-day passes soon expired, the soldiers flocking back to Aldbourne now that their leave was over. Wounded returned from the hospital and were greeted with much enthusiasm. The atmosphere was filled with a sense of joy to be alive, a highly justified sentiment in everyone's opinion. Still, Winters, who was promoted to Captain and now officially Easy's CO, quickly had them focused on the work at hand again.

The soldiers had always taken their training seriously. Sure, there had been a few pranks and jokes back in basic and also afterwards, but overall, they had all known that it was important. They all had bitched and grumbled and griped about it at some point – they were soldiers, it was basically good form to do that – but that didn't mean they disparaged its importance.

Now, however, they saw the training in a different light. Drills and field exercises, marches and night problems, everything carried the added weight of knowing the consequences of treating it lightly. Death or serious injury. They knew because they had experienced it. Jumping into combat and watching your friends die had a way of putting things into perspective.

Which was what irritated the veterans the most about the replacements that were brought in to fill Easy's depleted ranks. Fresh of the boat from the states, quite a few of these boys had the nerve to actually bemoan the fact that they hadn't been a part of the D-Day drop into occupied France.

"I would have shown those Krauts", one of them boasted as they prepared for PT in the morning.

Jessica snorted. "You wouldn't have lasted a day", she informed him bluntly, eyeing him with a mixture of disgust and ridicule.

It was obvious from the first day of training that the replacements' skills were very far from the standards Easy Company was used to. That wasn't entirely their fault. In an effort to bring its sometimes severely diminished units back to full combat strength, the Army had compressed the two years of intense training into a meagre eight months.

The replacements knew the very basics of jumping and manoeuvres, but little more than that. And so, it fell to the veterans to whip them into shape, bring their skills up to scratch and build up the fitness and stamina these boys lacked. The NCOs especially worked hard to impress on the new guys that mistakes could get you killed and that war wasn't glorious, but ugly, brutal and absolutely nothing to look forward to.

 **...**

Maxine, due to her upper-class upbringing, was very talented when it came to schooling her features and being perfectly polite even when she thought somebody was the height of idiocy. Also, she had a natural authority about her and as the veterans knew, she had no problem asserting her authority as a senior non-com and squad leader. The replacements discovered that fact rather quickly.

As they went to find out which platoon and squad they were assigned to, Higgins muttered to his buddy Andrews: "God I hope we get put in a good squad."

"Yeah, I hope so, too. I don't wanna have to look after some dame on top of everything else", Andrews agreed, shaking his head.

"That's right. Or worse, have to follow one of them in combat", Higgins continued.

Andrews snorted derisively. "Can you imagine? They actually put a girl in charge of a squad. What's next? A woman lieutenant?"

"You might want to watch what you're saying when everyone can hear you", a light voice spoke up.

The two men turned to see a pretty young woman in her early twenties looking at them, lips quirked up in a smile. "Oh yeah?", Higgins said, flashing her a grin. "What makes you say that, doll?"

She shrugged. "Oh, you know", she offered nonchalantly, "just a few people might disagree with you. I wouldn't want you to get embarrassed or hurt."

They scoffed and waved off her concerns, assuring her that they could handle themselves.

Ten minutes later, Higgins and Andrews entered the barracks of second platoon, looking for a Sergeant Lloyd. "Back there", they were told when they asked where they could find their squad leader. Approaching the small group at the back of the billet, they quickly recognised the woman from earlier talking to another woman shuffling a deck of cards and a man with a lopsided smile.

"Sergeant Lloyd? Captain Winters assigned us to your squad."

Maxine looked up and stifled the urge to laugh as she saw the same two guys standing in front of her who had so openly discussed their low opinions of 2nd Battalion's female members. She also noted that they looked at Dukeman and that Frances was smirking impishly.

Dukeman just pointed at his squad leader and grinned as a look of horrified realisation, mixed with badly hidden disdain, spread on the replacements' faces.

"Pick a free bunk", Maxine just said, fixing them with a stern gaze. "And then get ready for training. Wouldn't want you to feel like us women can't look after ourselves, would we?" She smiled sweetly, causing Frances to snicker.

Thoroughly embarrassed, they complied.

At the end of the day, Higgins and Andrews were forced to revise their opinion of the women. If anything, they had been faced with the jarring reality that the women, just like the other veterans, were far more skilled, tough and experienced than them.

 **...**

And that was biggest issue the Toccoa men had with the replacements; the thinly veiled, sometimes blatant lack of respect towards the women in the battalion. The disparaging comments and scornful glares made their blood boil, even more so when the girls just laughed them off or pretended not to notice them.

But since they would likely end up jeopardising the women's authority even further by intervening and putting every single one of the disrespectful new boys in their place as many of them would love to, the veterans let their friends handle the matter in their own ways.

Though nobody had said anything of not enjoying the show when it happened.

They hid their grins and stifled their giggles when Theresa, who had been promoted and was now officially in charge of the squad she'd been leading since D-Day, methodically took apart the replacements' abysmal performances on field problems and orienteering exercises. The Nebraskan calmly pointed out mistakes and errors, her analysis delivered in a frank, matter-of-fact tone without condescension but without sugar-coating things either. And she always showed the new guys how it was done, patiently explaining and demonstrating until they got the hang of it.

They pretended not to feel amused or satisfied when Jessica mercilessly corrected the replacements' stance in hand-to-hand combat, her observances blunt and to the point. The new guys that felt like bragging was the way to go about proving themselves to the 'old guard' had to put their money where their mouth was and were more often than not put squarely on their ass. Those that thought they could mouth off at the Marylander found themselves on their backsides as well as on the receiving end of Jessica's acerbic comments.

The Toccoa veterans also found it highly entertaining to watch or at least listen to Louise when she supervised the replacements on the shooting range. And many of them had trouble keeping a straight face as the Brit worked to improve the new kids' technique.

"You can stop looking at me like I just stabbed you with a coat hanger, Jackson, a blind man with a stick could see that there's dirt in that chamber."

"Baxter, you can start fiddling with the sights when you actually hit something other than dirt."

"Dear God almighty, that's got to be the biggest load of bullshit I've heard all day. Your stance is about as stable as jello and you're trying to tell me it's the rifle's fault that your shots are all over the place?"

 **...**

But the most impressive spectacle took place when Audrey Maynard overheard a group of Fox company replacements talking.

One of the idiots said: "You know, I heard that there were two broads in this company after D-Day, but the other one was 'badly wounded'." He made air quotes with his fingers, his friends nodding and chuckling as he continued: "Badly wounded. Probably broke a nail or sprained an ankle."

Their laughter abruptly stopped when Audrey suddenly stood before them, eyes blazing with fury.

"You bastards don't know shit", she hissed through grit teeth. "There were nine women in Fox Company before D-Day. Nine. Seven of us were killed that night. And Cassandra Jessup, the 'other broad'" – she mimicked the air quotes, glaring at the offender – "took some shrapnel to the face during a battle. It stuck out of her skull and it's a goddamn miracle that she wasn't killed. I don't know about you, but I'd say that classifies as badly wounded."

The replacements blanched at the image, swallowing thickly.

"I don't give a flying fig leaf that you don't like us", the New Zealander continued, voice in a snarl. "You don't have to like us. Trust me, we don't like you either. But unlike you, we have seen combat. Dick or no dick, we have seen soldiers, friends die, bleed, scream and cry. So shut up and stop talking about stuff you know nothing about. Did I make myself clear?"

Suitably chastised and either beet-red or sheet-white, they nodded hurriedly, muttering "Yes Ma'am" and "Yes, Sergeant".

"Good." With a last withering glare, she breezed past them, back to her friends.

The veterans all agreed that the replacements, especially the one who had made the comments that prompted good-natured, genial Audrey to tear into them, walked away with their pants filled up to the waistband.

* * *

No matter the weather, they trained on any terrain imaginable, day or night. After all, the enemy wouldn't politely wait to attack until it was convenient for them. And they used live bullets as well to really impress the sense of reality and danger onto the replacements. Though they understood the reasoning behind it, the medics weren't best pleased with that. They'd had to tend to enough bullet wounds on the battle field, they didn't want to see them during training, too.

"Least that way they learn how to duck", Jessica remarked flippantly.

Catherine, who was bandaging the cut a stray bullet had left on a private's arm, gave her that disapproving look that all mothers seemed to have in common. "Yes, thank you for that input, Jess, it's not helpful."

The blonde raised her hands with an innocent shrug. "I'm just saying..."

"And I'm saying you should get back to training", the medic told her firmly. The poor private looked shame-faced enough already without the barbed comments.

Jessica smiled. "Yes Ma'am."

The Hawaiian had been reinstated in her position as ranking medic after their return to England. Mampre had been only too happy about that decision. "Wouldn't be right if I went and tried to boss you guys around, would it?", he had said with a laugh. "You were on the front lines while I was stuck in the hospital."

To fill the hole Oats had left in their small cluster of medics, Ralph Spina from Philadelphia had been assigned to Easy. He was a friendly sort, even-tempered and eager to learn. He got along well with the Toccoa medics, even if he sometimes seemed a bit unsure.

 **...**

The return of the wounded from hospital was a pleasant contrast to the rigorous training routine. Smokey, true to his nature, had a grand gesture planned and so everybody gathered in the mess hall, dressed to the nines in their dress greens.

Ana María squeezed in beside Hoobler, smoothing down her uniform skirt and smiling at him when he complimented: "You look real pretty, Ana."

"Thank you, Hoobler. You clean up nicely, too."

He grinned and asked the table at large: "You hear that fellas?"

They laughed before falling silent as Smokey claimed their attention with his premiere rendition of _The Night of the Bayonet_

 _The night was filled with dark and cold, when Sgt Talbert, the story's told,_

 _pulled on his poncho and headed out, to check the lines, dressed like a Kraut._

 _Upon a trooper our hero came, fast asleep, he called his name:_

 _Smith, oh Smith, get up! It's time, to take your turn out on the line._

Ana María chuckled, Smokey had a gift for comedy and, as it turned out, poetry. Then again, the man had had more than enough time to tweak and polish the poem to perfection during his stay in hospital.

 _But Smith, so very weary, cracked an eye, all red and bleary._

 _Grabbed his rifle, he did not tarry, hearing Floyd, but seeing Jerry._

 _'It's me!', cried Tab, 'Don't do it!' and yet Smith charged toute suite with bayonet._

 _He lunged, he thrust both high and low, and skewered the boy from Kokomo._

The Puerto Rican laughed and joined the applause, impressed with his use of 'toute suite' to rhyme with bayonet.

 **...**

When Talbert got one of Smokey's Purple Hearts because he didn't qualify for one as he hadn't been wounded by the enemy, she cheered loudly with the rest of the mess hall.

"It was still pretty stupid to wear a Kraut poncho", Grant commented.

Ana María nodded. "Yeah. He was really lucky."

"Mhm, that our medics are quick on their feet, too", Hoobler added, fingers drumming against the rim of his plate. "I saw Arricante run past our foxhole. Like the wind, that one."

"Yeah, blink and you miss her", Cobb weighed in.

Hobbler turned to Bull, having just remembered something. "Hey, weren't you sharing the foxhole with her?"

"I was keeping watch when they called for a medic", the tall Arkansan said. "One moment, she's dead asleep, the next she's already out of the foxhole. Pretty damn impressive."

Cobb snorted. "Good to know that medic awareness training was of at least some use", he grumbled, eliciting groans of agreement and commiserating laughs from the rest of the table. They had all hated that part of training. It had always interrupted everyone's much needed sleep.

 **...**

Their laughter quieted when Lip got up and said: "Couple of announcements to make, men and women."

They shifted and listened closely.

"First, the training exercise scheduled for 2200 has been cancelled."

Cheers rang out.

"Secondly..." He paused, smile fading from his face. "...all passes are hereby revoked. We're heading back to France, so pack up all your gear. We will not be returning to England, boys and girls."

Ana María felt her stomach tighten, a weight settling in her chest. It had only been a matter of time, but she couldn't help but dread going back to combat.

"Anyone who has not made out a will, go to the supply office", Lipton finished. "Trucks depart from Membury at 0700. As you were."

The atmosphere was suddenly stifling, the mess hall too quiet for the number of people in it. There were murmurs and whispers, but they weren't enough to lighten the sombre tension in the air.


	28. Chapter 28 - Bad letters

As it turned out, Easy didn't return to France. A strange mix of relief and frustration in their guts, they went back to training. Until the next mission came around. They packed all their gear and were half-way into the planes when the jump was called off as Patton or one of the other Allies had already overrun the drop zone and gotten the job done. This unnerving cycle continued for weeks and soon, summer began to inch towards autumn and the 506 was still in England, hanging in limbo. Training continued, the replacements steadily improved under the Toccoa veterans' strict tutelage and the men and women enjoyed their limited free time as much as they could.

One evening, mail call came around and Vest handed out letters left and right. He could be heard hollering names all over camp, searching for the recipients of the stack of missives in his bag. "Sergeant Lloyd! There you go, ma'am."

"Thanks, Vest." Maxine accepted the small bundle of letters, reading the senders. One from her brother and sister. One from her mother. One from Warren. And one from her father. Her eyebrows rose slightly. Her father had expressed his disappointment early on in basic training and had refused to send any letter after they had shipped out to Europe, so seeing his handwriting on an envelope was a surprise.

She shrugged and set it aside, instead opening the one from her siblings first, curious to hear how they were doing and what they had been up to recently.

 **...**

Quite a few heads turned a couple of minutes later when Maxine made a noise of anger at the back of her throat and swiftly tore up her father's letter. She didn't offer any explanation and ignored them in favour of the last remaining letter, the one from her fiancé.

 _Dearest Maxine_

Already, red flags went up inside her mind. It was always 'my beloved Maxine' or 'my darling' or even just 'my dearest'. But never just 'dearest Maxine'.

 _I hope this letter finds you well. Penelope sends her best and wanted to thank you for your well-wishes. She and her newly wedded husband are very happy and marriage becomes her rather well, I would say._

 _You expressed concern for my well-being in your last letter as your mother had mentioned that I seemed troubled. Rest assured that I am in perfect health. But I was, and still am, indeed troubled, my darling. I have been restless and plagued by worries lately, worries about you._

Ah. Flat realisation spread in Maxine's chest. So that was where the wind was blowing from.

 _I spoke at length with your esteemed father at the annual Summer Ball and he shares my concerns. You have been gone for a long time, dear Maxine. I never claimed to understand your desire to join the Army, but I supported you because I wanted you to be happy. I confess, I thought and hoped that you would recognise that it is not a place for women, especially not for a beautiful lady like you. But in your letters, you spoke with so much pride and affection of your unit that I couldn't bring myself to ask you to return to me._

Hurt and indignation now pooled in her gut. Warren had just indulged her thinking that she'd come back as soon as the going got tough? Didn't he know her better than that? She frowned and returned to reading.

 _Even when you shipped out to Europe, off across the sea to fight in a war that shouldn't be your business, I kept my silence. Your mother advised me that you were driven by a desire to prove your worth and who would I be to deny you that? So I waited and prayed and spent many a restless night hoping that you were safe, that you'd soon return to me hale and hearty._

Maxine swallowed.

 _Now that you're back in England, away from the front lines, I had hoped that it would be enough. I had hoped you were satisfied, that you had seen and done enough. That you were ready to come home. And yet, you showed no such intention in your last letter. Darling, just like your father, I fear your sense of obligation has clouded your judgement. Please come home before harm befalls you. I am sure your comrades would understand._

Anger returned, the frown deepening. The nerve! The insolence!

 _And thus, you leave me no choice. I love you, Maxine, I love you so much that with every passing day, the longing of my heart gets more painful. So please, if you truly love me like I do and value the promise of our betrothal as much as I, please come back to me. I fear that a refusal on your part might put our future together in jeopardy and I would hate for it to come to that, my darling._

 _Please send your reply as soon as possible. I can't wait to see you again._

 _Always yours,_

 _Warren_

The laugh that bubbled in her chest was hysterical in nature. Maxine clamped down on it, incredulously rereading the passage to ensure that yes, she had read it correctly the first time. Warren Emerson junior, her beloved fiancé, was indeed issuing an ultimatum to her. Behind all the flowery words and poetic declarations of love, the message was unmistakable – come home or the wedding's off.

Blowing out a breath through her nose, the staff sergeant folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope, the movements carefully measured. Tucking the bundle of correspondence from her family into her jacket, she rose from the table.

 **...**

On her way out of the mess hall, she passed Catherine, who smiled at her and began: "Oh hey, Max, I meant to talk to you about-"

"Not now, please", she said, fully conscious of the fact that she was being rude interrupting her friend like that.

The smile slid off the Hawaiian's features. "Are you alright?", she asked, concern darkening her brown eyes.

"I'd like to be alone, so just...leave me be for a while? I need some quiet."

Catherine's expression softened with gentle compassion. "Of course", she said, nodding slightly. "Let us know if you need something. You know where to find us."

"Thanks." Maxine slipped past her friend, who looked after her, lips pursed into a slight frown.

* * *

Reaching her billet, Maxine sat down to pen a response to her father's letter. She would reply to her siblings' and her mother's later, when she was less emotional. But her father would feel the full extent of her hurt and fury at being talked down to like she was just some pretty thing incapable of complex rational thought.

After composing a positively scathing letter to her father, she wrote to Warren. She apologised for causing him pain and thanked him for supporting her decision to join the Army. She expressed her disappointment at being given an ultimatum and regretfully informed him of her decision.

 _I love you very much, dear Warren, and if the circumstances hadn't been what they are, I am sure that we would already be married and lead a happy life together_ , she wrote. _But we both know that neither of us can be truly happy with the status quo as it is now. Therefore, much as it pains me, I give you free. I love you, Warren, and I wish you all the best in the world._

Signing and blowing on the paper to dry the ink, Maxine leant back, her back against the wall of her billet. Dashing away a stray tear that had escaped her, she put the letters into her footlocker for the time being and took her engagement ring off the chain of her dog tags. After a long moment of contemplation, she slid the silver ring back onto the chain and tucked it back under her shirt.

Suddenly, the silence of the billet felt too close, almost claustrophobic. Wiping her cheeks again, she got to her feet. A walk would do her some good, burn off some of the restless energy itching in her veins.

 **...**

She wandered aimlessly through the camp for nearly half an hour until she came across Mia and Lieutenant Speirs. The medic perched on the hood of a jeep, the officer leant against it. They didn't seem to be in conversation and as Maxine knew them both to be discrete and private, she walked over.

"Lieutenant", she greeted quietly. "Mia."

Speirs acknowledged her with a simple "Sergeant", Mia's "Hello" soft and accompanied by a small smile.

Maxine moved to sit next to her friend, heaving a sigh. Two gazes flew her way, one sharp, one curious, both discerning. But no questions were asked, for which she was grateful.

Instead, Mia offered her a cigarette and shrugged: "You look as if you need it" when Maxine looked at her in confusion.

"These can kill you, you know." But she accepted the proffered smoke nonetheless and took a drag, feeling a smile pull at the corner of her mouth when Mia chuckled quietly. It was strangely comfortable, sitting there with two people nobody would expect to see in one another's company.

Lieutenant Speirs' reputation preceded him, rumours of him killing prisoners and shooting a sergeant of his own platoon circulating among the men. He wore intimidation like a second skin, though from what Maxine had heard, he was also a good leader who looked out for his men.

And Mia, or Doc Arricante, as most people called her, was mostly known for being quiet. Or odd, if one listened to the meaner tongues talking about the young woman. But Maxine knew she was also kind and brave, a good medic who cared for the people around her.

Accepting another drag of Mia's cigarette, Maxine lay back and looked up into the evening sky. The first stars were already out, twinkling on the warm background of soft pink and blue. She blew out the smoke, watching it waft away, the silver tendrils curling and rolling in the air. A smile stretched on her lips. She had made the right decision. She was her own person and she would never trade the camaraderie of the paratroopers for a family that couldn't see past her good looks.

After a few minutes, Speirs disappeared without much more than a nod and a respectful "Arricante. Lloyd.", leaving the two women alone.

They stayed in companionable silence. Maxine did have a few questions, but decided to hold off asking them in favour of relishing the peaceful quietude for a bit longer.


	29. Chapter 29 - The Pub

**Better late than never, huh? I was a bit under the weather last week and since school is already nearing its end (hallelujah!), we have a lot of work to do.**

 **! Warning for this chapter: Attempted sexual assault ! Nothing too graphic, but please proceed with caution if this is a sensitive topic for you!**

 **On another note: I've had a few messages from some of you lovely readers, commenting how you ship one of the women with one of the guys. Now, I'm genuinely curious what your ships are, so if you have any, feel free to leave me a review or PM :) Who knows, maybe one or two might make it into this story?**

 **The ships I already got are:**

 **Maxine / Guarnere**  
 **Louise / Liebgott**  
 **Mia / Speirs**  
 **Mia / Roe**

 **Do you share these? Do you have others? Let me know. Now I hope you enjoy the chapter and I wish you all a good night (or a good day, depending on where you are).**

* * *

Frequently, when they had the evening off, the soldiers would go to the pub, have a few drinks, play cards or darts or crabs or dance with the local girls, nurses and Red Cross women.

Louise carefully made her way through the crowd, two drinks in hand, trying to reach the table where Frances was shuffling her beloved pack of cards. "Here you are", the blonde said to her friend, setting a beer in front of her.

"Thanks, Louise. Want to join?", Frances asked with a smile that had a wicked edge. The occupants of the other chairs were Geraghty, Pace and Toner, three replacements.

She shrugged. "Sure, why not."

The grin on Frances' lips widened a fraction. Turning her head, Louise saw that she wasn't the only one who had noticed it. There were matching smirks of gleeful anticipation on several Toccoa veterans' faces.

"Alright then, ladies and gentlemen", Frances announced, cards blurring in her fingers, "we're playing Omaha, the ante is ten bucks or ten smokes, same worth."

Ramirez pulled up a chair and tossed in a handful of dollars. "Deal me in, too."

"Be prepared to lose, I smell a winning streak in the air", Louise joked, taking a sip of her beer.

He laughed.

 **.**

The poor, unsuspecting replacements stood no chance. Frances was in her element.

Pace soon cut his losses, admitting defeat with a disappointed but good-natured "Seems like it's not my best night." He wished his buddies luck and excused himself, heading to the bar for a little pick-me-up.

"What a wimp", Toner snorted, shaking his head. "He only lost about 50 bucks 'cause he folded at the first sign of trouble."

Louise smirked and added another ten smokes to the pot. "Meanwhile, your brave refusal to fold has cost you 200 bucks already", she remarked drily.

Frances chuckled and called to Maxine, who was passing by: "Hey Sarge, want in? Ten dollars or ten smokes."

"No thanks, Frances, I prefer to keep my money", was the amused response.

"Aw, c'mon, it's not my fault the cards don't like you", the North Carolinian mock-whined, dealing a new hand.

Maxine waved off, laughing. "You guys have fun", she said, patting her on the shoulder. "Just try not to cause any financial ruin." Her tone was innocuous enough and her gaze included all participants in the statement, but she knew the underlying message had been received.

Ramirez looked up to her, eyes wide in feigned innocence as he asked: "Who, us? Never."

"We're all grown up, Max", Louise added with a smile. "But you're welcome to say 'I told you so' if we end up gambling our entire pay."

"Noted." With that, Maxine took her leave.

 **.**

Ramirez eventually relinquished his seat to grab a beer and to chat with the guys from his squad. "Don't want to lose all my smokes in one night", he said, collecting his winnings and straightening his jacket.

Frances raised her half-empty glass in a toast. "Wise words."

Their numbers even again, the game continued. The pot grew steadily and with each passing round, so did Toner's frustration. "You're cheating!", he exclaimed eventually, stabbing an accusing finger at Louise. "You must be!"

The blond Brit arched an eyebrow and shot back: "With your dreadful poker face, I don't have to. If you go around calling people cheats, you better have proof to support your accusations."

Geraghty, who looked quite uncomfortable between his friend's outburst and the sniper's icy glare, attempted to assuage him. "Well...maybe you just had bad luck", he said. "C'mon, be a good sport. Here, have a drink, take a deep breath. Next round, it'll be better, you'll see."

The irked man blew out a breath and followed his comrade's suggestion. "Sorry, Sergeant", he ground out, sounding at least moderately contrite. "I lost my head a bit."

Frances, familiar with Louise's temperament, shot her a glance before turning to Toner. "Just be careful with allegations like these", she said, taking some of the gravity out of her words with a small smile. "Unfounded accusations won't get you far around here."

He nodded. "Yes, Ma'am", he muttered, adding a sincere "I'm sorry, Sergeant."

"Apology accepted", Louise granted, deciding to let it slide this time. After all, he had apologised immediately and they all just wanted to have a good time.

Frances grinned and flipped the cards through her fingers. "Alright, let's get back to the game, shall we?"

 **.**

Toner's luck did improve and a few rounds later, he was happily arranging a bunch of cigarettes and dollars into neat piles. Pace came back to their table, but he preferred to watch – and peek at Geraghty's cards. He also fetched them another round of drinks.

Spectators came and went, observing the game from the side lines while tossing in the occasional comment or joke. Geraghty was easily distracted by the onlookers, a flush creeping up his collar. Pace came to his buddy's aid, whispering instructions and even going as far as to tell one of the more obnoxious men to "stuff it, it's hard work trying to win against these two."

"Well of course", Frances agreed, calling Toner's bet. "You'd be offended if we went easy on you."

 **.**

Ultimately, the game came to an end without anyone harbouring hard feelings. Geraghty won the last hand, nobody had gambled their entire stock of smokes or cash, Toner had recovered a substantial part of his losses and the two women also had won a fair bit of money.

Frances collected her winnings and excused herself.

Theresa moved to stand next to her at the bar. "Nice one", she said. "Making them believe they got one over you."

The nimble-fingered North Carolinian smiled and took a long sip from her club soda. "Why am I not surprised that you figured it out?"

Theresa shrugged and ordered a club soda for herself.

"Toner lost the most", Frances continued easily. "93 bucks and 20 smokes. Geraghty's down 13 smokes and 27 dollars."

"Sounds about right", Theresa said casually, shifting to lean against the bar and let her eyes travel around the room. "So, 11 smokes and 40 dollars each?"

"Yep." After all, Ramirez and Louise deserved their share since they had aided and abetted her in her little scheme.

A grin playing around her lips, Theresa turned her head to look at her. "Just don't overdo it with fleecing the new kids", she cautioned. "They are green and cocky, not stupid."

Frances nodded. "Scout's honour."

* * *

At the same time, Maxine decided to call it a night. The heels of her pumps clicked quietly against the cobblestone pavement as she ambled down the road, the night air smelling clean and warm.

"Hey there pretty lady", a voice drawled behind her.

Maxine's shoulders tensed at the hated word and she kept walking. She didn't recognise the voice and even if it had been General Eisenhower himself, she wouldn't have stopped when addressed like that.

"Hey! Hey, I'm talkin' to you."

The man didn't drawl, she amended. He slurred. _Oh great. A drunk replacement._ She kept her stride even, but lengthened the steps.

"Hey!"

A hand grabbed her arm and pulled hard, making her stumble and turn. She bumped against the man's chest and immediately cringed backwards as the stench of his hot breath hit her in the face. Drunk or not, he had a good three inches on her and an advantage of about 80 pounds. His arms encircled her as she tried to twist away, pinning her arms to her sides.

"C'mon, darling", he panted into her ear. "I know you want it, too." His hands reached for her belt.

She squirmed, chest tight with panicked revulsion. "Let go of me this instant!" She stomped on his foot, ground her heel into his instep.

He growled in pain, relaxed his hold to clamp a hand over her mouth.

Maxine flailed, nails digging into the soft tissue between his thumb and index finger. The hand left her mouth, a curse ringing in her ears. Clumsy fingers tugged at her blouse.

Sheer desperation fuelling her strength, she jerked her head back.

White stars exploded in her vision and she staggered to the side, hand blindly reaching for purchase as dizziness made her knees go weak for a moment. She blinked a few times, recovering quickly, but not quickly enough.

He shoved her flush against the wall, his big hands all over her, body pressing close.

Bile rose in her throat and Maxine kicked.

The weight lifted off her as he lurched a step back, one knee buckling.

She socked him across the face.

He made a grab for her skirt.

A well-aimed uppercut and he went down.

 **.**

Maxine hurriedly put some distance between herself and him, pulling in a few panting breaths.

He didn't get back up, stayed on the ground, holding his face.

Narrowing her eyes, she got a good look at him. Replacement. Private. Dog Company, if memory served her correctly. She opened her mouth to ask his name when a familiar voice called: "What the hell is going on here?"

She jumped and swung around before her brain had time to inform her that there wasn't a threat. It was Guarnere.

He took a few steps towards her, then paused when he noticed the man groaning on the floor. His sharp eyes flickered down to him and back to Maxine in the span of a second. "Max, what the fuck happened?" Judging by his tone, he had a very good idea of what had happened.

"It's-" _It's nothing to speak of_ , she wanted to assure him, not wanting to make a scene. But the words got stuck in her throat, only a choked first syllable falling from her lips.

The door of the pub opened, light and people spilling out, no doubt alerted to the commotion by Bill's shout. The first three people out – and Maxine really wasn't surprised by that – were Luz, Catherine and Lipton. The latter two came over while Luz took one glance at the scene in front of him and turned around, hurrying back inside for reinforcements.

Maxine closed her eyes. _Shit._ She took another breath and willed herself to stop shaking. _So much for plan A._

"Christ, Max, are you okay?", Martin asked, glower settling on his face when he looked at the man on the ground who was still moaning rather pathetically.

With all the poise of a diplomat's daughter, Maxine tucked her uniform shirt back into her skirt and forced herself to ignore the growing crowd around them as more and more Easy Company members came out of the pub.

"Yes, I'm quite alright, Johnny, thank you for your concern", she answered, smoothing down her rumpled clothes. "If somebody would be so good as to call the MP though, that would be appreciated." She wanted to keep it quiet, really, but with that many people around her, that wasn't an option. She was a Staff Sergeant, she had to set an example. Plus, a night in the stockade would give the man plenty of time to sober up and think about what he'd done.

 **.**

Lip frowned, worry coiling in his stomach. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had transpired. The man on the ground, Maxine's dishevelled appearance, Bill's furious expression. If he hadn't known the Washingtonian so well, her polite and prim tone would have fooled him. But now, he recognised it as a sign for how disturbed and upset the young woman was.

"Yeah, call the MP!"

Because he was watching her closely, Lip didn't miss the wince flashing across Maxine's face when the man spoke up.

"Call the MP so they...they can ar- arrest this crazy bitch for...for atta- attacking me!"

Guarnere glared at the man. "Oh really?", he challenged, practically daring the man to continue.

"Yeah! Broad's been f-flirtin' with me all night an'...and then she punched me!"

"What?" Liebgott's eyebrows shot towards his hairline before pulling back down into a baleful scowl. "Are you fucking kidding me?", he snarled, advancing before Theresa's hand on his bicep stopped him in his tracks. "You expect us to believe that shit?!"

"It's true!", the man insisted, voice teetering on an indignant whine now as he hauled himself into a more upright position. "That bird's jus' actin' all...proper now. I could- I could tell that she wan- wanted it, too."

" _That bird_ ", spat Louise, taking a threatening step towards him, "is Staff Sergeant Lloyd, you puny cockroach. Insult her again and I promise you'll be singing soprano for the rest of your miserable life."

 **.**

Maxine raised a hand even as level-headed people like Lip, Catherine or Bull moved forward to stop any of the hotheads from pouncing on the man. "Enough, please", she said. "He'll get his punishment and I don't want to hear that any of you got into trouble over this as well. It's not worth it."

Higgins, one of her own replacements, squeezed through the crowd to announce: "The MP are on their way, ma'am."

She gave him an acknowledging nod. "Thank you, Higgins."

Faced with the reality that he was now truly in deep shit, the man sank back down, moaning and wailing incoherently.

"Oh stop your snivelling!" Maxine glared down at him as if he were a particularly disgusting pile of dog excrement. "You've brought this onto yourself the moment you decided to behave inappropriately towards a superior and tried to take advantage of me. Now if you'll excuse me", she continued, voice wavering just the slightest bit, "I have to report this to Captain Winters."

A glance towards Lipton, Martin and Guarnere reassured her that her fellow NCOs would handle the rest. She turned on her heel and found herself flanked by Luz and Theresa.

"I'll go with you", Luz declared from her right, his usually cheerful expression clouded with anger.

Theresa took up position on her other side, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Let's go."

* * *

Luz took a moment to study the Washingtonian as they went to HQ. Her eyes were fixed firmly on a point straight ahead, her jaw set and her lips a thin line. Spine stiff and head held high, she was the picture of sophisticated aplomb, dignified and strong. Maxine reminded him of a swan. The embodiment of grace and elegance, but at the same time fiercely protective and very capable of breaking your arm when provoked.

"Are you okay, Max?", he asked, not knowing how else to broach the subject. He'd seen the aftermath of the attack on Mia, Theresa and Catherine aboard the Samaria, he could guess the answer, but the silence was getting too heavy, too tense for him.

"No", the tall brunette replied emphatically. "I'm not. I'm furious." Air hissed through her teeth as she exhaled, the emotions that had been stirred up inside her coming out as frustrated anger. "You'd think that the Army would instil enough self-discipline into the men to retain at least a modicum of dignity and control of themselves, but no...", she trailed off, shaking her head. Her blazing gaze dipped to the ground for a second. "How is it that a replacement private can think that he has the right to just take whatever his alcohol-fuelled mind desires?"

Theresa's expression shifted. "Max..." The word hung in the air, an expression of pained empathy.

"It shouldn't have happened", Luz offered quietly. He was unaccustomed to hearing so much bitterness in his friend's voice, but he understood the women's frustration. If he were in their shoes, he'd be sick and tired of constantly having to prove his worth.

Maxine nodded sharply. "No, it shouldn't have. But it did. Just like it shouldn't have happened on the Samaria, but it did." As soon as the words left her mouth and she saw Theresa's shoulders stiffen, she regretted it. "Reese, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"You don't have to apologise, Max", the other woman assured her with a wan, sad smile. "After all, you're right."

Luz looked over at his friends. "You know that you're not just some pretty dames to us, right?" He had to ask, needed to hear them say it. "We trust you. You know what you're doing and you're good at it, too."

He received two appreciating, sincere smiles and they both confirmed that yes, they knew that.

"And you can also be pretty damn scary sometimes if you want to", he added, grinning when the women laughed.

 **.**

Arriving at HQ, they weren't overly surprised to discover that their CO was still in his office. Captain Winters looked up from some paperwork when they entered.

"What is it?", he inquired, taking note of the serious look on Luz' face, the frown twisting Nolan's eyebrows and the restrained anger in the lines of Lloyd's features.

"Sir", the Staff Sergeant spoke, "I'd like to report a case of harassment."

He set down his pen and gave them his undivided attention. "What happened?"

"A drunk private saw fit to accost me on my way back to barracks and behaved himself highly inappropriately", Maxine responded promptly, her formal wording and factual tone at odds with the outrage and revulsion flashing in her eyes. "I demanded he cease his indecent advances, yet he continued in his attempt to force himself onto me. I defended myself and had the MP called."

Luz and Theresa added their own accounts, the latter confirming that in the pub, Maxine hadn't interacted with the man at all, much less done anything that could have been misconstrued as flirting.

"I only had half a beer, sir", Maxine added. "Nothing more. I'm sure Corporal Hernandez, or Sergeants Malarkey and Toye can vouch for that."

Winters nodded his acknowledgement although he had no reason to doubt the woman. Instead, he asked: "Are you hurt?"

A rueful smile ghosted across Maxine's lips. "I'm going to have a bump on the back of my head and maybe a few bruises, but nothing serious."

"He hit you in the head?", Luz questioned, concern mixing with anger.

She shook her head and clarified: "I gave him a headbutt to the chin."

"Ah."

 **.**

Relieved to hear that Maxine hadn't suffered any serious injuries in the reprehensible attack, Captain Winters told her to get herself checked out, just to be on the safe side. "I will speak with the COs of D and F company", he said, rising from his chair. "This issue needs to be addressed; I don't want this to happen again."

"Yes sir", the three soldiers agreed.

After reassuring them that the offender would be dealt with accordingly, he thanked Maxine for reporting the incident.

"Thank you for hearing my side, sir", she responded with a grateful dip of her head. "Good night, sir."

Theresa and Luz echoed: "Good night, sir" and they took their leave.

As the door clicked shut and the footsteps retreated, Winters blew out a long sigh. Four women of his company had been victims of sexual harassment so far. And five women had been involved in a physical altercation to defend themselves or each other from such an attack.

He had no doubt that the NCOs would make it clear to the replacements that any inappropriate behaviour towards one of Easy's own wouldn't be tolerated and he was quite certain that Lt McMillan and Lt McFadden, the commanding officers of Dog and Fox company respectively, took an equally dim view of such acts.

* * *

The trip to the infirmary was brief.

Captain Martha Osborne, who had started boot camp with them but had transferred to the WAC early on into their training at Toccoa, examined Maxine with the standard efficiency of an army nurse and quickly determined that the woman's injuries weren't serious.

"You're gonna have a headache to match that goose-egg on the back of your skull there", she said, handing her an icepack and some aspirin. "But that's nothing time and some rest won't cure."

With a clean bill of health, Maxine and Theresa headed to their billet, all too eager to go to sleep and just forget about the whole mess for a few hours.

 **.**

The next morning, the battalion's female senior non-coms sat together during breakfast, holding an impromptu meeting to discuss the situation. Maxine, knowing that she was among like-minded peers, allowed herself to vent some her frustration.

"I'm a staff sergeant, for crying out loud", she said, setting her cup of watery coffee down with a touch more force than intended. "I earned those stripes all by myself, through hard work, not money or favours of ill repute. And yet, these...boys" – she uttered the word as though it was the most grievous insult – "have the gall to question and disrespect me at every turn because all they see is a pretty dame."

Audrey nodded. "This really is a problem", she agreed. "We've worked hard to get where we are, but it's like being back in basic. I thought I was done worrying about ending up with a bullet in my back because some _poroheahea_ , a... a numbskull thinks I don't belong here."

They all had similar complaints about the replacements whose behaviour towards them could only be classified as borderline insubordination. Most of the new boys had settled by now; the nervous and insecure ones had started to relax while the self-important and rude ones had been dealt a lesson or two in humility. But, as the events of the last night had demonstrated, there were still a few who held not even a shred of respect for them or their rank.

 **.**

"The biggest issue is they can't handle their liquor", Theresa pointed out, pushing her plate away. "Normally, they don't risk being openly insubordinate because they know we'll put them in their places. But when they're drunk, the rational part of their brain is turned off."

"But we can't exactly police their alcohol intake", Catherine sighed.

Louise scoffed and commented, words heavy with sarcasm: "Yeah, that'd go well." She balanced her knife with its tip on the table top, thoroughly unperturbed by the fact that she was adding another hole to the already groove-riddled wood.

Maxine rubbed her temples, already sensing the beginnings of a headache. "We'll just carry on as usual", she said, squinting at her friends. "I'm not scared of them. I know the guys have our backs."

"And if something like this happens again", Louise continued with a smile, "we'll make sure they'll regret it for a very long time."

Theresa downed the rest of the sludge the army was passing as coffee. "Louise, anyone ever tell you that you enjoy this way too much?"

The sniper shrugged unrepentantly. "Once or twice."

"Mhm."

The five women looked at each other and giggled.


	30. Chapter 30 - The Women of Dog & Fox Co

**Not really a chapter, sorry. But this is the best place to put it for now and I hope you like it anyways :) The next chapter is in the works, I promise!**

 **Also: Thanks for all your comments about your favourite ships. It's so interesting to read them and I am trying to figure out how to include at least a few of them. Keep 'em coming! :)**

* * *

Here's a quick overview of the other women in 2nd Battalion of the 506 PIR. I included their "celebrity look-alikes" in brackets because unfortunately, this site doesn't allow pictures in the story itself. But, like with the women from Easy Company, if you search for _Women of War - A Band of Brothers story_ on wattpad, you can find the pictures I used as reference there.

 **Dog Company**

 **Bowman, Esther Imelda**  
serial number 12689235  
born 08 July 1919  
from Rochester, New York  
hair: dark brown  
eyes: brown  
(Emmy Rossum)

 **Fox Company**

 **Jessup, Cassandra Lorraine  
** serial number 17492775  
born 31 October 1923  
from Box Elder, South Dakota  
hair: blond  
eyes: hazel  
(Mia Wasikowska)

 **Maynard, Audrey Victoria  
** serial number 19574904  
born 14 September 1922  
from Santa Maria, California  
hair: dark brown  
eyes: dark brown  
(Keisha Castle-Hughes)


	31. Chapter 31 - Operation Market Garden

**So, I finally managed to upload another chapter. I have just about finished the chapters for episode 4 and hopefully, I can post the next chapter next week or the week after. Sorry for keeping you waiting all the time, but I have a lot going on right now. I only have 3 weeks of lectures left and on top of writing my thesis and finding a job and family stuff, I also have some health issues to worry about. So, I'm really really sorry. I'll try and make up for it somehow at some point.**

 **Still, a massive thanks to all of you who read this story and leave me reviews and PMs. You guys are awesome and your comments always make me smile!**

* * *

A few days later, Easy Company was on the tarmac of the airfield again, gearing up for another mission. This one, apparently, was far too crucial to be called off. They were jumping into Holland with the objective of liberating Eindhoven and securing the roads for the tanks. Named Operation Market Garden, the mission seemed rather straight-forward and intelligence expected little resistance.

The squad leaders had their hands full in between readying their own kit and making sure that the replacements knew how and what to pack. The rest of the veterans helped where necessary, offering pointers and showing the kids how to organise their equipment so they would be ready to fight as soon as they hit the ground.

 **.**

"You won't need the reserve, Andrews", Maxine advised, adjusting the straps of the boy's webbing. "We're jumping low. Dukeman, would you mind helping Higgins and Coombs?"

He shook his head. "No problem, Sarge."

"Thanks." Giving him a grateful smile, she turned back to Andrews, going over all the things he should have in his pockets. "Right. Ammo?"

"Right here."

"How much?"

He showed her, explaining: "There wasn't any room for more."

"That's okay. Put the rest in your musette bag. Lighter?"

Andrews patted the pocket and Maxine continued. "Rations?"

"Yep."

 **.**

"Who the hell thought up these flags?", Malarkey wondered, shaking his head at the star-spangled banner on his upper arm.

Along with their new jump gear – complete with a re-designed parachute release mechanism – they had been issued a fresh set of ODs, which included a stupidly large brassard with their flag on it.

"Hell if I know", Muck shrugged. "He was probably blind, though."

 **.**

A few feet over, Jessica grumbled about being under British command. The operation had been thought up and planned by General Montgomery himself, but unfortunately for them, the British were known to be overly cautious.

"God, manoeuvres are gonna take twice as long", she sighed, shoving a couple of magazines' worth of ammunition into her musette bag. "And why a daytime jump? Seriously, even if the Krauts are only old geezers and kids, it's not too hard to land a shot when there's a couple a' hundred paratroopers falling from the sky."

Ana María, who had so far been trying to ignore her and focus on fixing the radio she and Perconte had been working on for the past hour, set down her screw-driver and turned around. "Dios mio, can you please, please stop your griping?"

"What?", Jessica challenged. "C'mon, it's true! 'The element of surprise'? Yeah, sure gonna be a surprise when they can see us from miles away."

Sat on her haunches, the Puerto Rican pinched the bridge of her nose. "You've been complaining for thirty-five minutes straight", she said slowly in an attempt to restrain her frustration. "And while that is already annoying enough, you've also indirectly insulted Louise and Mia at least five times each, so please – give it a rest."

Stumped, because it had been quite a long while since Ana María had last been so obviously annoyed, Jessica closed her mouth.

Only to open it half a minute later to ask: "I insulted Louise?"

The radio tech rolled her eyes and continued to hold the circuit board in place while Perconte tightened the screws. "You've been ranting about the Brits the whole time. How incompetent and slow and unnecessarily cautious they are."

"Yeah, but I didn't say that Louise is the same", the blond Marylander argued. She paused, frowning. "Speaking of, where is she anyway? I can't see her anywhere."

Ana María shrugged. "With her stick, I'd imagine. Or helping the other non-coms with the replacements."

 **.**

Louise twirled a lock of her ponytail around her finger, sharp eyes flicking this way and that on the map in her lap as they evaluated distances and angles. She had received a special assignment and because some vital intel had only come in this morning, she was now doing some last-minute reviews of the aerial reconnaissance data.

"There's too many hiding spots", said her spotter, Sergeant Ryan Gambrill from company HQ, giving voice to her own thoughts. He didn't take his dark gaze off the schematics they were analysing. "Holland is a sniper's paradise."

The blonde responded with an inarticulate hum. "You can say that again. We have our work cut out for us." She tried not to let on how worried she was. There were so many possible sniper perches that it was going to be virtually impossible to check and secure all of them.

They continued to plan and strategize for a while before they packed the maps away and turned their attention to their equipment. After they had double- and triple-checked their parachutes, weapons and kit, spotter and sniper helped each other with their harnesses, cinching straps and checking buckles.

"I guess it's too late to go to the toilet now", Gambrill quipped, wriggling a little to test his range of motion.

Louise snorted. "I'd say so. Though I'm sure you could still have a wee. But us girls? We're doomed", she said, making him guffaw with her dry-witted tone.

* * *

Over in D Company's area, T-5 Esther Bowman was shaking her head over the replacements in her squad. They acted like blushing maidens when they noticed that as the only woman in the company, a man would have to help her with her chute.

Awkwardly shuffling and mumbling excuses, they turned to their sergeant for help.

"C'mon, guys, don't be prissy", Sergeant James Caracea sighed. He would have done it himself if he didn't have his hands full already, checking the replacements' harnesses and making sure they had their rifles secured and properly slung across their chest.

Spying Easy's Doc Arricante walking past, Esther whistled through her teeth and waved her over. "Hey Mia, would you mind giving me a hand?" Seeing the other woman frown at the unfamiliar phrase, she added: "I can't get my chute on by myself and I don't want to put anyone in an uncomfortable position."

"Oh. Of course."

Caracea grinned. "Now watch and learn, boys", he said, greeting her with a friendly nod.

 **.**

Esther had her harness and webbing on in record time thanks to Mia's competent assistance. The messy-haired medic tightened the straps and made sure the buckles connected to the quick-release button on the chest didn't come loose prematurely.

"Thanks, Mia." Patting down her seventy-nine thousand pockets, Esther fished out a crumpled pack of smokes.

Mia smiled and accepted the proffered cigarette. "You're welcome."

Sgt Caracea shared a look with the two women, then addressed his squad: "And that, boys, is how you do it. Next time, I expect you to help Bowman without a fuss."

They mumbled a sheepish "Yessir".

 **.**

After Mia had left to join her own stick again, one of the new kids muttered: "She's weird."

"Yeah. All shifty-eyed and so quiet", another agreed.

Private Steve Kapopoulos overheard them. "Careful", he warned. "She's friends with Lieutenant Speirs."

"What?!"

"You're kidding, right?"

"With _the_ Lieutenant Speirs?"

"That's right", Walter Lipinski, another Normandy veteran, chimed in. "And she was on her own for almost three days after D-Day. Alone. With no weapons."

The replacements' eyes grew round like saucers while Esther smothered a grin and made a mental note to tell her friends in Easy Company about this conversation later.

* * *

The horn of a jeep caught Catherine's attention and she straightened to see who it was.

"I can't think of anyone I'd more like to see leaving", Frances commented.

The mother of two was inclined to agree. Getting out of the jeep was none other than Captain Herbert Sobel, their much-loathed first CO

"He's our new S-4", she said, chagrin clear in her voice.

Her friend stared at her in open horror. "Supply officer?! Him?!"

"Yeah." Catherine chuckled. "You can imagine how thrilled I was when I found out."

Pulling a face that was a mixture of sympathy and disgust, Frances shook her head and made a quiet retching sound.

Then, Catherine spotted Lipton coming over, his arm slung around the shoulder of somebody she hadn't seen since D-Day. Bull walked behind them, ever-present cigar between his teeth, smile on his face.

"I don't believe it. Is that Popeye?" Frances glanced at her before going back to gaping at the man in joyful disbelief.

Letting out a short laugh, Catherine said: "Yeah, that's him. What I want to know is how he got cleared for the jump."

 **.**

As it turned out, Popeye hadn't been cleared at all. He came over to greet the two women, hugging them with a big smile on his face. That smile soon changed into a bashful grin when he found himself on the business end of Catherine's patented 'disapproving mother' expression.

"So, going AWOL from the hospital, are we?", the Hawaiian asked, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

Popeye shifted, glancing to Lip and Bull for help.

They just grinned.

"Um...yeah", he answered. "Didn't want to miss the jump."

"Mhm, and what makes you think you can make the jump?"

He smiled despite feeling like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "Like I told Lip: I can jump. I just can't sit."

Frances giggled and remarked: "That's a good point, Cath."

The ranking medic dropped the act and laughed, eyes softening as she reached out to pat Popeye on the shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Popeye", she said. "Just be careful, please? You don't want to catch an infection."

He beamed and promised, admitting: "Well, you really had me fooled for a moment, Mom. I thought you were gonna send me back."

"What, after _Sobel_ gave you a ride here? Not a chance."

* * *

The drop couldn't have been more different. The only thing this jump and the one on D-Day had in common were the fact that they were paratroopers jumping out of airplanes and dropping behind enemy lines.

But that was where the similarities ended. No gunfire. No planes exploding or falling from the sky riddled with flack-sized bullet holes.

Just a few fluffy clouds high up in the peaceful air as they landed in their designated DZ. There were no enemies in sight and while they hurried to get rid of their chutes, grab all the equipment and get out of the open field, it was considerably less stressful than a few months prior, when they were running for cover in the pitch dark, dodging bullets as they went.

"Let's go", Theresa urged her squad, pulling Pace to his feet without missing a step. Casting a scanning glance across the field, she took a quick headcount, satisfied when she saw all her guys up and moving.

 **.**

The welcome they received in Eindhoven could only be described as exuberant. The citizens were absolutely ecstatic and within moments of the Americans' arrival, the streets were filled to the brim with people celebrating their liberation in one gigantic spontaneous party.

While Louise appreciated the sentiment, she could barely stop herself from snapping at the enthusiastic civilians. Her eyes were scanning rooftops, balconies and windows, searching for a glint of sunlight off metal or a shadow where there shouldn't be one. But getting jostled this way and that, smothered with hugs from all sides, made it extremely difficult to focus on her task.

"I don't like this", Ryan said while he wiped lipstick off his cheek.

Louise agreed. "A sniper could cause absolute bedlam and slip away unseen." She tugged a replacement back by the scruff of his collar when a brightly smiling woman beckoned him to follow her. "I don't think so, sunshine", she scolded. "Back to your squad."

A bright flush appeared on his cheeks. "Yes ma'am." And he scurried away.

Politely fending off another eager woman who attempted to kiss him, Ryan squeezed past a few people to get to Louise's side. "Let's find the officers. Lieutenant Nixon said we'd get further intel from the Dutch Resistance."

Together, they pushed through the crowd, too focused on their goal to bother with "excuse me"s when they bumped into somebody. Finding the officers was easier said than done in the teeming bustle, but eventually, Louise caught sight of a white vertical stripe on the back of a helmet. "I got them."

"Thank God, 'cause all I see is backs and heads. And lots of Dutch flags."

She shot him a wry smile. "Try eating your veggies, helps you grow tall."

"Shut up", he laughed.

 **.**

Winters greeted the pair with a nod and a brief smile. "Fields, Gambrill."

"Sir", they replied. Louise noted with satisfaction that all the officers were flipping up their collars to cover their insignia.

"We gotta get to those bridges", Winters said, turning to lead them through the crowd.

As they continued, Nixon plucked Ana María out of the joyful mob, the radio operator sputtering a relieved thanks. With her small stature, she'd had a hard time trying not to get swept away by the mass of people.

Louise spotted Catherine herding an entire cluster of soldiers, clearly exasperated since some were apparently rather enchanted by the attention the members of the fairer sex bestowed on them. She snickered at the sight.

* * *

The atmosphere shifted a few yards down the street, revelry and exhilaration giving way to bitterness and loathing. Women were muscled into the centre of the circle that had formed, restrained and held still by members of the Dutch Resistance as their clothes were torn. Their cries and pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears as they were forced to their knees to have their hair shorn off. The hands wielding the clippers were unconcerned with being gentle – swiftly and roughly cutting away neatly coiffed locks.

Some women sobbed and begged, struggled and screamed. Others were silent, their expressions empty. They offered no resistance when they were hauled away, swastikas painted on their foreheads to denounce their shame.

"Qué diablos...?", Ana María breathed, unable to take her eyes off the scene in front of them.

Welsh asked: "What did they do?" His tone mirrored the appalled look on his face and echoed the shock they all felt.

Louise's jaw tightened, a sick feeling spreading in the pit of her stomach. Her suspicions were confirmed when a faintly accented voice behind them said: "They slept with the Germans." She pivoted to see that the speaker was a man with rather unremarkable features. He wore an orange bandage on his arm.

He smiled briefly and continued: "They were lucky; the men who collaborated are being shot." He sounded disgustingly cavalier about it.

Louise got a sudden urge to punch the man's teeth out. At the edge of her field of vision, the blonde registered a figure stopping dead in their tracks. Turning, she caught a brief glimpse of Mia staring at the man, her expression a picture of abject horror.

 **.**

The moment lasted barely more than a split second before the young medic disappeared into the throng again, but it was enough to spur the British sniper into action. Grabbing Ana María by the shoulder, she murmured: "Ana, find Catherine, tell her Mia heard what the man just said. Have some of the guys stay with her."

The Puerto Rican frowned and blinked a few times to regain her composure after what she'd just witnessed. "What?" Her mind, still reeling, tried to catch up with what her friend was telling her.

Louise's lips were pressed in a grim line. "What do you think's gonna happen if any of these brutes find out that Mia's German?", she whispered urgently.

Ana María's dark eyes grew wide. " _¡Carajo!_ "

After reassuring Louise that they'd look after Mia, she rushed off into the crowd. With liberal use of her elbows, she'd reach Catherine in record time.

Louise watched her go, brows furrowed. She desperately wanted to go after the quiet girl herself, but she couldn't. She had work to do. Taking a deep breath, she carefully rearranged her features into a blank mask before tuning back in to what Mr van Kooijk was saying.

If the others noticed her grit teeth or clenched fists, they were smart enough not to mention it.

 **.**

Catherine didn't waste any time after Ana María had finished explaining the problem at hand. "Okay, Ana, thank you", she said, brown eyes already searching the crowd for the people she needed. "Spread the word, but only to the NCOs and tell them to keep it under wraps. Mia hates causing a big to-do."

"Sure thing, Mom."

While the diminutive radio operator braved the masses once more, Catherine made her way to Toye, who luckily wasn't too far from her. "Toye!", she called, pushing past celebrating people.

He stopped and moved towards her. "What is it, Mom?" He took in her troubled expression. "Catherine, what's going on?"

She repeated what Ana María had told her.

Toye's expression darkened, jaw muscles hardening. "Where is Mia?", he demanded.

"Ana María said she went in that direction" – she pointed straight ahead – "and she won't have gone far. Keep an eye on her."

He regarded her seriously, gave her a nod. His look promised pain for anyone who dared upset the quiet medic.

* * *

It was already late in the evening when Louise finally made it to where Easy had set up camp for the night. Together with some of the guys and a group from the Dutch resistance, she and Ryan had spent all day clearing potential sniper perches.

She'd been relieved though not overly surprised when they had confirmed the reports of the young informants who said that the Germans had all left.

Rolling her shoulder to try and relax the knotted muscles, the sniper looked over the clusters of soldiers in search of a familiar mop of moderately gravity-defying hair.

"Looking for Mia?" Lipton came up beside her, studying her with a knowing look.

 _Sweet Cesar's sandals, the man is a mind-reader._ "Yes."

The First Sergeant pointed to a group sitting in a loose circle. Even in the dark, Louise could make out the figures of Mia, Frances, Toye, Guarnere and Luz.

"They're taking good care of her", Lip told her. He had watched from afar as they had drifted over one after the other until the messy-haired brunette and her self-appointed protector were surrounded by their friends.

Louise rubbed her eyes. "I know, I know. Just..." She shook her head. She didn't want to think about what might have happened if those people had discovered they had a German in their ranks. "I've never seen her so upset", she confided.

Lip smiled sympathetically and patted her shoulder. "She's tough. She'll be okay." Her friends would see to that. Luz, Toye and Louise herself were closest to Mia and they all looked out for the girl in their own ways.

"Yeah." Louise nodded her thanks, then headed off to find herself some grub before joining the small group.

 **.**

Bill had to admit that when Luz had first befriended Doc Arricante, he hadn't understood it. The woman didn't say much, her expression was near-impossible to read and she was just...odd, for the lack of a better word. But Luz had been dead-set on becoming friends with her and had slowly paved the way for everyone's acceptance of Mia as an integral part of Easy Company.

Now, as he watched Frances teach her a card trick, Bill thought back and remembered when he had first come to respect the young medic.

He had been walking towards the mess hall with Grant and Luz, chewing the fat and grousing about Sobel. Their attention had momentarily been pulled towards the infirmary when a slim figure slipped out, walked calmly to the bushes out back and vomited.

They had watched as Arricante threw up, small hands braced on her knees.

The expressions of disgust and – Bill was ashamed to say, in his case – glee changed to astonishment when she straightened after rinsing her mouth and promptly headed back inside as if nothing had happened.

"I swear, if you look up 'composure' in a dictionary, there'll be a picture of that girl next to it", Luz had said with a fond shake of his head.

Chuck had smiled and commented that this probably made her a pretty good poker player.

Bill remembered making a joke along the lines of how Mia could hide anything behind a smile. But after today, he realised that he hadn't been too far from the truth.


	32. Chapter 32 - Nuenen

**Hello everyone! Thank you all for your reviews on the last chapters. I'm still ridiculously excited that you guys enjoy my story so much!**

 **I'm currently struggling with the chapters for episode 5. It's a really tough one. It covers between 3 and 4 months and a lot happens during that time. I'm still trying to figure out what to focus on and how to write it... I have some ideas and hopefully, I can have the chapters ready on time, but if you guys have any ideas or suggestions, I'd be really grateful for them. :)**

 **Also, please note that I don't know a lot of Spanish - especially not the Puerto Rican variety. It's all research, online translators and a bit of a feeling for language. So I apologise for any mistakes.**

* * *

Of the five bridges the 101st Airborne had been assigned to capture, they only managed to take four. They were held up by 88s and machine gun fire from German outposts before they could reach the last bridge at Son. When they finally broke through the resistance, the Germans blew up the bridge.

Frances had a close encounter with an 88s projectile that blew up mere inches away from her. She was knocked off her feet by the blast, but luckily escaped serious injury.

"You really had somebody looking down on you", Spina commented as he cleaned the shallow cuts that littered her face.

She chuckled and lifted her left shoulder in a lopsided shrug, grimacing as the bruises on her back already began to make their presence known. "My mom, I'd like to think", she said.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." Frances slid off the crooked desk that had been repurposed as an examination table. "She died when we were still young, but Dad often said that she's watching us from Heaven. 'Your mother is probably rolling her eyes up there', he'd say whenever Andy and I got in trouble. And then Uncle Archie would laugh and say: 'Jim, Anna is most definitely laughing herself silly up there'."

Spina laughed and asked: "That where you got your tricks from?" He paused when he realised how judgmental that sounded, but when Frances just giggled, he relaxed.

"That's right", she grinned proudly. "Mom and Uncle Archie grew up around street magicians, pick pockets, card sharps and all sorts of con artists." Picking up her helmet and shrugging her rifle over her shoulder, she gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Thanks for patching me up, Spina. See you later."

Then, she headed outside, whistling a cheerful tune as if she hadn't been on the receiving end of an explosion less than an hour before. Spina stared after her and scratched his head. There were some interesting characters in this unit, he mused.

* * *

Easy travelled in style atop the tanks accompanying them, only the scouting team walking next to the massive armoured vehicles that rumbled along the street towards their objective. The weather was splendid and Jessica was happy to lean back, listen to the chatter around her and tease the replacements in her squad. They were so green and jumpy, it was ridiculous.

As they rattled past a road sign, she heard Webster say: "Vincent van Gogh was born in Nuenen."

Cobb, who was in her squad as well, snarked: "Yeah, so what?", while Hoobler joked that they sure taught useful stuff at Harvard.

"Who is that anyway?", Jessica pretended to wonder, grinning at Webster's scandalised expression as he dove into a passionate lecture about the famous painter.

All banter and joking died off when they passed a thin silhouette by the roadside. It was a young woman, head shorn, clothed in dirty rags. In her arms, swaddled in a blanket that was grey with dust and dirt, was a baby.

Many soldiers averted their eyes.

Mia stiffened and made to slide off the tank, some rations and a few rolls of gauze in her hands. She was held back by a hand on her shoulder. Turning her head, she received a silent shake of the head from Jessica.

"Don't be stupid, you wanna break your neck?", the blonde hissed in response to the medic's narrow-eyed glare, taking the supplies out of the medic's hands and tossing them to Maitland walking below.

 **.**

"Hey get a load of General Patton!"

Hoobler's amused call pulled everyone's attention to the front of their convoy. Lieutenant Brewer was standing there, looking through his binoculars, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was practically inviting enemy bullets by being in the open like that.

Jessica snorted and mumbled: "He might as well paint a bull's eye on his chest", while Theresa shook her head, incredulous at the officer's carelessness.

Bull hollered a warning, but it was too late.

A loud crack split the air and the man collapsed in a spurt of blood.

"Sniper! Clear the tracks!"

"In the ditch!"

"Get behind the tanks!"

Theresa swore before joining the shouts of the NCOs. "Off the tanks, move, move, move!", she bellowed as everyone scrambled for cover in the roadside.

The turrets turned and aimed at a German tank speeding down another road. Two deafening booms later, enemy soldiers climbed out of their now destroyed and burning tank.

Rifles opened fire and bullets flew.

 **.**

"Medic up front!", Bull cried from where he was crouched on the road by the lieutenant's side. "Medic up front!"

Pepping raced past them, climbed the slope of the ditch and rushed to the fallen man.

Bull got to his feet and shouted at them to keep moving.

"Move!", Johnny Martin echoed his friend's order, which was repeated by his fellow NCOs behind him.

Another shot split through the chaos and Pepping went down, his leg shot out from underneath him. Hashey, who was on point for Bull's squad, stared in horror. Webster and Hoobler were still shooting at the Krauts.

Bull ran to get his squad moving, seeing that his replacements had frozen, leaving them in a vulnerable position. But from what he could see, Theresa was doing a fine job spurring them into motion.

"Come on, move! We're sitting ducks here!", the woman called, her own squad following without hesitation. "Keep moving, they shoot at stationary targets!" Her hand found a handful of Hashey's arm and pulled him along. "Go!"

Up on the road, Mampre had arrived to tend to Lt Brewer and Pepping. The lieutenant was bleeding badly from a wound on his neck, legs kicking as he writhed, struggling to breathe. Pepping just lay on his back, hands clasped over the hole in his thigh, jaw clenched tightly against the grunts of pain that escaped him.

* * *

Easy headed into Nuenen, platoons spreading out to cover as much ground as possible. While they hoped that one tank would be all they'd see of the enemy today, they knew it was highly unlikely. The town almost reeked of ambush.

Their suspicions were proven right soon after when a Tiger tank hidden behind a haystack decimated one of the British tanks, effectively cutting the road.

All hell broke loose.

A hailstorm of bullets rained down on them, tank shells reducing solid walls to piles of rubble and dust. The radio was constantly buzzing with transmissions, the radio ops shouting themselves hoarse over the noise of battle.

The enemy just came from everywhere.

 **.**

A group from second and third platoon was pinned down by a sniper. Every time they so much as twitched behind the garden wall, another leaden volley flew their way.

"Where the hell is this guy?", one of the replacements wondered.

Skinny ducked as chips of brick and mortar sprayed up when another round buried itself in the wall, two inches above his head. "What the fuck's he doing, he's not hitting anything!", he cursed.

"He's taking pot shots, hoping to get lucky!", Louise responded with a moue of distaste. "Stay down!"

Another solitary shot rang out, the bullet ricocheting off a piece of debris with a metallic clang.

Calculating angles and distances, she deduced: "He's close and up high, probably on a roof."

"Got him!", Ana María relayed, radio receiver wedged between ear and shoulder. "Across the street, four houses down. On the parapet."

Louise signalled her understanding and waited for her chance. As soon as the next shot broke, she was on her feet. Whirling around, she brought her rifle up and in the span of three seconds aimed and fired.

"Let's go!"

 **.**

Theresa took out another Kraut, but there were so many that it hardly made a difference. Black smoke from the burning tank that was somehow still moving obscured her vision.

She gritted her teeth and ordered her guys to fall back. There were just too many. _Where the hell did they all come from?_

She heard Johnny shout and a burst of automatic gunfire right afterwards. It was answered by the rattle of a machine gun. _Lord have mercy and watch over them._

"Move it, go, go!", she called even though nobody needed any extra encouragement. The enemy MG spitting slews of bullets on them was motivation enough.

* * *

"We had to leave him", Hoobler gasped as he reported to Lt Peacock, back hitting the low wall behind which they had taken cover. "He's still alive."

Roe appeared on the other side of the lieutenant. "Who's hurt?"

"Van Klinken. Other side of that hedge." He had been shot when they'd crossed the hedge to the ditch on the other side, several rounds of machine gun fire hitting him as they tore through the dense foliage.

Roe pulled a bandage from his satchel, acknowledged with a soft "Uh-huh" and hurried off.

Hoobler uttered an emphatic curse before following him while Cobb provided covering fire.

A well-placed bazooka round curtesy of Chuck Grant took care of the MG that had felled Van Klinken. Several people were thrown to the ground when a tank fired through the house, the side of the building exploding in a cloud of dust, wood, glass and stone.

 **.**

"Fall back! Fall back!"

They were retreating, hopelessly outgunned. Catherine was keenly aware of the Germans closing in as she tended to a wounded replacement. "Let's get him out of here", she told Christenson, hurriedly tying off the bandage and hooking her fingers into the injured man's belt loops to hoist him up.

Mortar shells blew up uncomfortably close as they double-timed it towards the rear. Another tank demolished another house in its attempt to cut off their escape route. They stumbled, but both of them managed to keep their feet under them.

"Keep moving!", Christenson ground out.

 **.**

Hoobler and Roe returned, dragging the unconscious Van Klinken between them.

"Webster, take over!", Hoobler shouted, ducking back behind the low wall. He asked Peacock what they were going to do.

The lieutenant stared at him and replied: "I'm not sure!"

"Sir, they're about to outflank us! We-"

He interrupted himself when Mia came skidding around the corner, crouching down on his other side. "We have to leave, now!", the young medic said without preamble, her accent sharp with urgency.

A high-pitched whine cut off any further deliberations.

"Mortar!"

They ran.

 **.**

The first shell landed six feet away and kicked up a fountain of dirt and shrapnel.

The second hit disintegrated the wall that had served as their cover.

The dust settled, revealing Cobb in the corner, knees pulled to his chest, eyes wide and unfocused. Blood was trailing down his face from multiple small cuts.

Mia was with him in a flash. "You're okay. Hurry, get him out of here!", she instructed, hauling the shaken man to his feet and handing him off to Hoobler before turning to the frazzled lieutenant. "We need to go!"

* * *

"Armour has cut the road! We have infantry everywhere!", Luz bellowed into the radio, covering his ear with his free hand to have at least a chance of hearing a response over the racket of the battle. "Repeat: Armour has cut the road! We are covered in infantry!"

He heard Perconte report the same thing. There hadn't been anything from Ana María in a while, her last transmission being that the sniper had been taken care of.

Guarnere shouted at them to fall back, Maxine echoing the orders on the other side of the garden path.

They were halfway across the lawn when part of the house blew up. Bricks, shards and splintered pieces of wood whizzed past them as the concussion slammed into their backs. Some were knocked over, but most of them managed to jump into the ditch unscathed.

 **.**

Buck went down right in front of Louise. Malarkey hollered for a medic, dropping to a crouch with Muck on the other side. They all had their guns raised, ready to defend the wounded lieutenant. Roe came bounding up to them, easily leaping over the fallen man.

Buck greeted him with a faint smile. "Hey Doc."

"Lieutenant", the Cajun returned, wasting no time as he examined the wound. "It's gone right through, Buck, side to side, both cheeks."

They were showered in dirt from another mortar explosion, but none of them did more than duck their heads to shield their eyes.

"Malarkey", Buck said, voice strangled with pain, "get 'em outta here. Go."

"What?!"

"Just go and leave me here for the Germans, okay?"

Malarkey argued back: "Are you nuts?!"

"We'll carry you", Roe chimed in as he bandaged the wounds.

The tow-headed lieutenant scoffed. "Are you kidding me? I weigh more than you two guys combined."

"Don't be ridiculous!", Louise snapped in between shooting two more Krauts.

Malarkey paused for a moment, an idea forming in his head. Decision reached, he got to his feet. "Come on."

Muck and Louise followed him without question.

 **.**

As they ran back into the fray, the two mortar men learnt five new swear words and a number of colourful ways to describe someone's mental state.

They made short work of kicking a door off its hinges, not pausing in their actions when Guarnere spotted them and yelled: "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Help us!", Malarkey yelled back.

The platoon sergeant did so without hesitation or further questions and in a matter of minutes, they were using the slab of wood to drag the wounded Buck Compton towards the rear.

* * *

Plumes of black smoke reached up into the innocently blue sky, flames flickering bright orange and yellow against the dark backdrop. Several buildings burned. Easy Company scrambled up the dykes onto the road, past their own tanks and piled onto the trucks waiting for them.

Ana María hurried to get onto the nearest truck. Her right hip and shoulder were sore from when she'd been hit by flying pieces of brick wall. The same pieces of brick wall that had taken out her radio.

Blindly reaching up, she grabbed two of the hands that waited to pull her aboard. Regaining her footing, the Puerto Rican thanked Alley and Lesniewski, then dropped into the next best seat and began to examine her radio.

"No tengo tiempo para esa mierda", she muttered angrily, pulling a screwdriver from one of her gazillion pockets. "Pedazo de basura."

Alley, who happened to sit next to her, watched with a strange sense of fascinated amusement as Ana María inspected her radio for damage, all the while cursing under her breath. He didn't speak Spanish, but her tone and expression conveyed the message clearly enough to fill in the gaps between the few swear words he recognised.

"Is it busted?", he asked as she scowled at the dented casing before poking at some wires.

Ana María interrupted her unhappy tirade to acknowledge his question. "Uhm..." She studied the device with a frown. "I can't really say without opening it up, but if the damage is as minor as I hope it is...I should be able to fix it."

 **.**

Squad leaders did headcounts and relayed them to their platoon sergeants while they got ready to move out. Lipton, in his capacity as first sergeant, gathered those reports so he could inform Captain Winters.

"One bullet, four holes", Bill quipped as they got Buck settled in the bed of one of the trucks.

Lip cracked a small smile. "Yeah, it's almost a miracle."

They moved away, Bill mentioning: "I don't think we know where Bull is."

Catherine joined them, the look on her face heralding bad news. "Sir, I got one wounded", she said formally.

Lipton already knew that, had seen it himself. "Okay, Wilson, thanks." He glanced over at Bill. The platoon sergeant was obviously feeling the same worried foreboding as him.

"That's not all, sir", she continued, wiping blood-stained fingers on her OD shirt without a second thought. "I have one missing, too."

Frowning, Lipton mentally took stock. Roe was accounted for, as was Catherine, obviously. Mampre had gone to the aid station with Pepping and Lt Brewer. Spina...Spina he had spotted on one of the trucks, bandaging some poor guy's arm. Which left-

"Arricante."

Bill cursed.

The ranking medic nodded, mouth grim, eyes pained. "She hasn't made it back", she said, tone heavy with unvoiced possible explanations. And implications.

 **.**

"Do we know what happened?", Lip asked.

Catherine shook her head, looked down. "I...I only just noticed", she confessed, features twisting with guilt. "God, how could I not notice?"

The First Sergeant squeezed her shoulder. "You had your hands full", he offered in an attempt to console her. "You had wounded to take care of."

Bill's jaw tightened as the sinking feeling of dread gave way to angry determination. They had just taken one hell of a licking, which was bad enough in itself. They also had two Toccoa guys MIA, which made it a lot worse. Who knows what the Krauts would do if they found them?

Add to that the fact that one of the missing was a medic and thus unarmed. Then factor in that said medic was also a young woman and Bill had to consciously stop himself from thinking about it any further before he threw up. "I'll talk to the guys", he promised. "Somebody's gotta know something."

Catherine managed a shaky, but grateful smile. "Thanks, Bill."

He nodded at her and went to find out what the hell happened to Bull and Mia. Somebody had to be the last person to see them.


	33. Chapter 33 - A Tense and Worried Night

By nightfall, Easy had pulled back far enough that they could see Eindhoven on the horizon. They dug in in an empty field while the vehicles stayed up on the dykes, looming shadows against the dark sky. Fitting, Louise mused bleakly as she looked for Bull's squad. She'd heard from Luz that Hoobler had been one of the guys who had last seen Mia.

Footsteps behind her made her turn.

"Just ol' Gonorrhoea", the iconic drawl of Bill Guarnere announced, the man stepping out of the light mist that reduced visibility to little more than ten feet.

The sniper sighed, quirked her lips. "No news, hm?" If there were, she'd know. After all, there were several people in their company that always knew the latest gossip and loved to share it.

"Nothing useful", Bill confirmed, shaking his head. "Lieutenant Peacock told Lip that Mia was with them when we pulled back."

Louise frowned, nostrils flaring. "And where is she now?", she questioned, eyebrow ticking up.

"Don't know."

Murder flashed across the blonde's face and she wheeled around. "He doesn't know?!", she hissed, just barely managing to temper the enraged yell. "That's just fucking brilliant! That bloody imbecile, I swear to God- Let me _go_ , Guarnere!"

He had absolutely no intention of doing that. She might be taller than him by an inch, but using his weight and body mass, he kept her from storming off. He pushed the struggling woman back a few steps.

"You're not helping anyone like this, so _calm_. _down_!", he admonished sharply, even though he understood her anger. Hell, he felt just the same way. Angry. And frustrated. And about ten other emotions that he didn't have time to parse.

They glared at each other, Louise blazing fury and aggression, Bill unyielding stubbornness.

After a long beat, the blonde deflated with a sigh, fingers slowly uncurling from her fists to rake through her hair. Pushing all the helpless, powerless feelings far down, she said: "Well, Mia's obviously not just melted into thin air, so what the bloody hell happened?"

Bill shrugged, wishing he had an answer. "Let's go talk to Hoobler", he suggested instead, clapping her on the arm.

 **...**

"Hoob, any news on Bull yet?", Guarnere asked, crouching down at the lip of the foxhole, Louise following suit.

They received a flat, tired look and a minute shake of the head in response. Bull's squad was sombre, quiet and tense, expressions ranging from resigned anger to miserable worry. The replacements looked lost and overwhelmed, which wasn't surprising.

Bill fixed them with a stern gaze and told them: "If there ain't no body, then there ain't nobody fucking dead, understand me?"

It was a lesson they had learned after D-Day when they had gone for days without knowing the whereabouts of a large portion of the company. Many had turned up a few days after the jump with maybe a scrape or two and an exciting tale about their quest to link up with Easy.

"What about Mia?", Hoobler asked back, eyes shifting from Bill to Louise when the former just pursed his lips and clenched his jaw.

The Brit forced some optimism. "She's smart, she's probably already on her way back."

Hoobler nodded and climbed to his feet, picking up his rifle. "I'm gonna look for them", he declared. It didn't sit right with him that they'd had to leave men behind and it bugged him that nobody seemed to know what had happened to his squad sergeant or their youngest medic.

"Not by yourself you're not", Guarnere vetoed. He couldn't in good conscience let one man go on a suicide mission. He was about to voice his intent to join Hoobler when Louise beat him to it.

"I'll come with you", she said to Hoobler before telling Bill: "You're not stopping me this time."

The platoon sergeant smirked and raised his hands. "Wouldn't dream of it." And he meant it. He wanted them back safe and sound with Easy just as much. Besides, stopping Louise Fields when she had put her mind to something? He wasn't stupid enough to try that.

"I'll go, too", one of Bull's replacements, Hashey, volunteered.

Garcia stood up as well. "Me too."

Studying them for a moment, Guarnere felt the need to point out that if they got caught going AWOL, they'd be charged with mutiny. A snort from Louise, fittingly indelicate for the temperamental woman, confirmed what he already knew. He nodded as if she'd made an eloquent statement – in a way, she had. "Alright. Go get 'em."

 **...**

Webster joined them with a resigned "Alright, what the hell" and while Guarnere began spreading the word among the Toccoa guys, the small troupe slipped away under the cover of darkness.

Less than two minutes later, Frances caught up to them and took over covering the rear without a word, Webster moving up just as silently. A brief conversation consisting of a few glances and nods passed between the Toccoa veterans.

Only the sound of their boots against the ground and the soft rustle of their ODs whispered in the quiet of the night.

* * *

"Reese?"

Theresa raised her head, not surprised to see Maxine standing there. "Guarnere told you?", she asked rhetorically. The two sergeants were close, close enough that there was a standing joke shared among veterans about how 2nd platoon had two platoon sergeants.

The tall Washingtonian nodded anyway and plonked herself down next to her friend. "They're gonna catch all kinds of hell."

"For going AWOL? Or for not telling us beforehand?", Theresa questioned, eyebrow arching as she slanted her a knowing look.

Maxine shook her head, a tired chuckle escaping her. "That obvious?"

"Nah. It's just one of those pot and kettle situations."

 **...**

They fell silent, Maxine plucking blades of grass and weaving them together as she pondered the woman beside her.

Sharp as a tack, Theresa was a good tactician thanks to her logical way of thinking. She was also scarily good at reading people (and their minds, or at least it seemed that way) because she analysed them like the puzzles she was so fond of, filing away all information she had and examining every detail she learned about them.

Maxine fondly remembered the earliest days of their training, when all the girls had been sent on a night orienteering exercise as punishment for something or other. Between Louise's keen eyes, Theresa's analytical skills and Helen's fantastic sense of direction, they had reached their objective, retrieved the box they had been tasked to get and returned in record time. Sobel had been fuming, dead certain that they had cheated.

 **...**

Some time later, Ana María showed up. Somehow, she looked even smaller than she already was. She sat down with a sigh, dragged a dirty hand through her dark hair, dislodging some dust of pulverised bricks and mortar. "They're bombing Eindhoven", she announced, voice soft and defeated. "Elements of 3rd Battalion have gone to help evacuate civilians."

Neither of the two other women knew how to respond to that. The silence stretched again, thick with uncertainty and doubt.

Tucking a loose strand behind her ear, fingers restlessly fiddling with the cap of her canteen, Ana María didn't look at her friends as she wondered: "Do you...do you think they're okay?"

Theresa looped an arm around her shoulders, gave her a squeeze. "They're both smart", she said. "Bull's a strong, capable soldier." Whether she was trying to convince them or herself, she wasn't sure.

"And you know how good Mia is at passing unnoticed", Maxine added with gentle humour, though she wasn't joking.

Their efforts were rewarded with a flash of white teeth as the Puerto Rican smiled briefly. "Yeah...she is good at that. And tough, too."

Conversation petered out again as the three women lost themselves in their own thoughts. Nobody felt like eating or talking and sleeping was out of the question. Ana María eventually pulled herself to her feet and returned to the foxhole that she shared with Shifty. Hopefully, the parts she needed to fix her radio had already been delivered.

The quiet remained as stifling and taut as before.

 **...**

Bill found them an hour later, silently leaning on each other, eyes absently scanning the horizon on the off-chance that their missing comrades would come wandering into camp.

They glanced at him.

He shook his head and hated the way their shoulders slumped a little more, bending under the weight of uncertainty and worry. Suppressing a sigh, he gave Maxine a pat on the shoulder and continued on his way.

* * *

Restless, Catherine drifted between the foxholes, exchanging a few words here and there. Her stomach was twisting itself in knots as worry gnawed at her. Guarnere had told her that Bull's squad, along with Louise and Frances, had gone AWOL to look for their missing members. She had half-heartedly begun chiding Bill for allowing it but soon given up because her disapproval was simply born from concern.

He knew it, too. "They'll bring our guys back, Cath", he assured the worn-out Hawaiian after recounting all he had found out about their friends' disappearance.

The mother of two didn't know how to respond to that, left it at a nod.

"Heard Brewer's gonna make it."

"Yeah", she nodded. The man had been unbelievably lucky. If he hadn't turned at the last second, he would have bled out before anyone could have done something. "Pepping is going to be okay, too."

A small half-smile tilted Bill's mouth. "That's good news." His expression darkened and he grumbled: "Kraut scum, shooting on a medic like that."

Catherine frowned at the grim tone, scrutinised him. "Are you alright, Bill?", she asked. Not that she wasn't unhappy about the situation either; she was just as outraged about the enemy sniper breaking the Geneva convention. But it wasn't the first time and it likely wouldn't be the last either.

He waved it off. "Yeah yeah, don't worry about me, Mom, I'm fine."

She made a faint noise of disbelief at the back of her throat. "Try to get some rest", she counselled, gesturing into the light fog with her chin.

Bill scoffed and gave her a 'That's rich' look, but didn't contradict her. "You too", he said.

They parted ways, both continuing their rounds.

 **...**

As Catherine had expected, everyone was in a subdued mood. The usual jokesters – Luz, Malarkey, Muck and Penkala – were trying hard to fight against the glumness and others like Lipton, Guarnere and Talbert were also doing their best to keep everyone's spirits up. But the oppressive worry remained.

She found Roe and Spina sitting together, talking in hushed voices. They interrupted their quiet conversation to look at her.

"Are you alright, Catherine?", Spina asked.

Gene mustered her with his discerning gaze and offered: "We can finish the rounds if you want to get some rest", his Cajun drawl soft and melodic in contrast with Spina's Philly twang.

She shook her head. "No, it's okay. I can't sleep anyways."

Roe clicked his tongue in soft reproach. "You gonna make yourself sick with worry", he said, frown creasing his brows.

Catherine scrubbed her hands down her face. "I know", she responded with a heavy sigh. "This is almost worse than D-Day. It drives me nuts not knowing what happened."

Gene made a noise of agreement, while Spina had the air of somebody who couldn't entirely relate but still sympathised.

As the ranking medic went to finish her rounds after telling them to get some rest and ignoring the hypocrisy of that statement, she heard Spina carefully inquire about the numerous stories of D-Day that were still circulating among the companies.

 _Mia was on her own for three days after the drop into Normandy_ , Catherine tried to reason with herself. _She can look after herself._

It didn't do much to ease the painful knot in her stomach.


	34. Chapter 34 - Returning to the Fold

**Hey folks! Sorry for the long wait but I didn't get around to posting anything last week. I spent several days of mildly panic-fuelled productivity working on the analysis for my bachelor thesis and afterwards, my brain was just mush from juggling all that data.**

 **But as always, thank you so much for your reviews, I really appreciate them :)**

* * *

Dawn turned the sky a faint grey before the sunrise painted it in a glowing palette of colours. Nuenen lay quiet as the sunrays crawled along the roads and up the facades. The Germans were long gone, had moved out hours before.

The British tank that had burned throughout the night was still smouldering.

Bull had left the barn he'd sought shelter in and walked down the road, intent on getting back to Easy. Even though he had heard the Krauts head out, he kept his rifle ready, just in case that he ran into stragglers or a rear-guard. His shoulder ached, but the pain was manageable. The reminders of yesterday's battle were everywhere.

Houses with gaping holes in them.

Deep groves and dents in the road.

Empty cartridges capturing the morning light.

Dried drops and puddles, their colour a rusty brown.

Bull kept walking.

 **...**

Turning the corner, he froze instinctively when he spotted somebody up ahead. He relaxed his stance again when he recognised the American ODs and the brassard with the stupidly large flag was impossible to miss even at the distance. He couldn't immediately identify the soldier since his back was turned and he was bent over a prone body.

He stepped closer.

The figure sat back on their haunches, head coming up and Bull knew who it was. A flash of white and red on the upper arm. Slight build bordering on skinny with narrow shoulders. Tufts of duck-fluff brown hair that refused to lie flat even after being weighed down by a helmet for hours and days on end. There was only one person in Easy that fit that description.

After the initial wave of relief, a frown took over Bull's features. What was Doc Arricante doing here?

"Doc?", he revealed his presence.

The slim frame stiffened and she turned her head. Blue met blue.

Mia's eyebrows drew together briefly, confusion soon giving way to a weak, sincere smile. "Bull. Are you alright?"

"Fine", he offered, more concerned with how she had ended up here, all alone as it seemed. "What happened?"

Her face - or at least the half he could see - was dusty, smudges of dirt on her chin and forehead. The smile faded and her gaze shifted back to the dead man in front of her.

"I was cut off", she replied softly. "They were everywhere. I had to hide."

Bull crouched down beside her, studied the body she was looking at. A young man in a German uniform. Brown eyes staring unseeingly into the sky. The torso splattered with blood, his jacket riddled with bullet holes. He glanced at Mia and was startled by the intensity of the emotions on her face. He didn't mention the pale streak of cleaner skin on her cheek.

A thought popped into his mind. "Did you know him?"

The young woman's notoriously unreadable expression was painfully easy to read this time. Grief, sadness, pain, thinly veiled by caution.

"Yes", she answered, lips twitching from memories of a life past, "he was one of the neighbours' boys. He had a crush on my sister Letizia." She shook her head, a hint of bitterness seeping into her voice. "Another life senselessly wasted."

The dog tag she was holding in her palm disappeared into one of her countless pockets and they got to their feet.

 **...**

Finally catching a glimpse of her whole face, Bull's concern rocketed back up. "You're hurt."

"What?"

He pointed to the side of her face which had previously been hidden from his view and clarified: "You're bleeding."

From the looks of it, she had made intimate contact with the road surface at one point. Substantial parts of the right side of her face as well as her chin were covered in road rash. Blood dried on her neck.

Small fingers reached up to investigate, revealing torn, dirty and blood-stained sleeves. Mia hissed as her fingertips touched the abraded and raw skin of her cheek. "Huh. It seems so", she said, looking at her bloody fingers with an air of bewilderment. Her eyes caught on something and she peered at the back of her forearms for a moment before carefully rolling back the tattered sleeves.

Bull grimaced in sympathy. The heels of her palms and her forearms were in a similar state as her face, the worst of the painful looking abrasions weeping blood.

"Funny", the medic murmured, absently plucking a piece of gravel from a large cut close to her wrist. "It didn't hurt before." With a shrug, she let her hands drop back down, giving him a reassuring smile.

He considered her for a moment, wondering how she could so easily hide the pain she obviously must be feeling. "Let's go", he then decided, patting her on the shoulder.

* * *

As they made their way towards the edge of the town, they swapped stories of how they had ended up stranded in Nuenen and how they had evaded capture.

Bull had been outrunning that burning tank, crawling through the ditch. He had hidden in a drain pipe before relocating to the barn to spend the night.

Mia had been thrown to the ground by an explosion during their retreat. With the Germans coming in from all sides, the medic had had to think on her feet. She had shimmied underneath a hollow raised porch – at least, that was what Bull figured she meant by "wood terrace".

"The Germans picked that house as their staging point", the woman narrated, remembered terror of literally hiding under the enemy's noses haunting her shifty eyes. "They were...talkative? Is that the word?" She shrugged. "Egal, we have to get back, I need to speak with Lt Nixon."

Bull smiled, fairly impressed by her presence of mind. A lesser man would have been too frightened to pay attention to what was being said. "You hear anything useful?"

"I'm sure it will make more sense to Nixon than me", she replied. Her bashful smile turned into a pained grimace before her expression smoothed out again.

 **...**

They came across more bodies and Bull stopped to pluck the dog tag from Miller's chain. The kid's head had been split open by a mortar explosion, the side of his skull one gory mess. He sighed. _What a crying shame._ Miller had been a good kid, a little on the shy side, but loyal and smart.

Hearing a jeep approach, he raised his rifle in the signal for 'friendly' so the gunner in the back, who was aiming a mounted MG at them, wouldn't open fire. He turned to see Mia straightening, one hand sliding into the pocket of her OD pants. She'd no doubt collected the dog tags of the other casualties.

They approached the jeep. To their credit, neither the driver nor the gunner batted an eyelid at their battered and helmet-less state.

"You fellas are from Easy Company, right?", the driver said.

"That's right", Bull confirmed.

He grinned and gestured for them to sit down. "Well, lucky we found you, then. Word has it half your unit's gone AWOL to look for you guys."

 **...**

As the skinniest of them, Mia sat in the middle, with the driver to her left and Bull in the passenger seat.

The tall Arkansan cast a scanning glance over the messy-haired medic.

She must have surreptitiously wiped her face at some point because the tracks of dried tears on her cheeks were barely visible now, hidden under the smears of dirt and dust that also clung to the front of her ODs. Her head was bowed, gaze focused on the small piece of stencilled metal she held in her small fingers. He could faintly make out the name. _Leon F. Dreyer_.

His eyes travelled back to Mia's face. Her eyebrows were furrowed just the slightest bit, like she was in deep thought. Even with all the blood and dirt, the road rash marring her features, the sadness and pain in them was glaringly obvious from up close.

 _What are the odds_ , Bull mused, facing forwards as the jeep lurched into motion, _of coming across your childhood neighbour in the middle of a war?_

This begged another question, one that he wasn't sure he should ask. He wasn't afraid of the answer; he just wasn't sure whether satisfying his curiosity was worth the pain he would likely cause by asking.

Putting the thoughts out of his mind for now, he looked at the woman beside him once more. The dog tag had disappeared, stored in one of her numerous pockets. Mia's eyes were on the road, but she must have felt his gaze on her because she turned her head to give him a quizzical look.

"Everything okay?"

Bull nodded. "Don't worry about it."

She clearly didn't buy it, but didn't press the issue. He wasn't surprised. If there was one thing he knew about Mia Arricante- well, apart from what was common knowledge in the company, he didn't actually know much about her.

Silence settled over them as the jeep rumbled along the road.

 **...**

Light pressure on his arm had Bull looking down.

Mia had fallen asleep and her head had come to rest against the side of his shoulder. _Poor girl looks dead on her feet_. He couldn't blame her. If the dark rings under her eyes were any indication, she hadn't slept a wink. Unsurprising considering that the slightest movement, the tiniest sound could have given her away.

He allowed himself a brief smile. From what he'd seen, the quiet medic wasn't a very tactile person, usually never one to initiate physical contact, instead preferring to keep her own personal space. He felt almost privileged to see her like this, looking young and vulnerable in her sleep. She'd never let her guard down if she didn't trust him enough to watch her back.

* * *

Mia's eyes flashed open as soon as the jeep began to slow, momentary disorientation disappearing after a second when she spotted the silhouettes dark against the morning sky up ahead.

One of them signalled that they were Allies.

She shared a smiling look with Bull.

 **...**

"Where the fuck you been?", Hoobler demanded, beaming from ear to ear as he shook Bull's hand.

Bull grinned back. "Glad to see you, boys", he drawled.

Louise strolled up to the jeep, light dancing in her eyes as she squeezed past the replacements. "And what are we, chopped liver?"

"Of course", Frances joked, affecting a haughty, posh tone and turning up her nose, a wry smirk on her lips. "Liver's an expensive delicacy, after all."

"Naturally", the blonde agreed with mock-seriousness. She cocked an eyebrow at the two formerly missing company members, registering the blood and dirt on them, and said: "Alright, lads and ladies, let's get our asses back to Easy."

 **...**

They clambered into the jeep, the six of them balancing precariously in the back.

Frances tousled Mia's already messy hair and gave Bull a pat on the back before climbing in. Once settled, Louise leant forward and squeezed her friend's shoulder as she whispered something in her ear, to which the medic responded with a nod and a small smile.

With a disbelieving shake of his head, the driver got them moving again.

"We still don't know what happened", Webster remarked, raising his voice so Hoobler could hear him over the wind and the growl of the motor.

His friend clapped him on the shoulder, still giddy with relief and joy. "We'll find out later", he told him. "Must be one hell of a story."

* * *

The arrival of their rag-tag group at camp didn't go unnoticed.

"Bull!", Johnny shouted, his entire face lighting up as a beaming grin broke out.

Alerted to the return of their missing company members, Easy began to gather around the jeep to welcome them back.

Bull climbed out and shook Johnny's hand, a matching smile on his own face. "Hey Johnny."

"Get a little lost?", he teased.

The tall Arkansan smirked around his cigar. "Something like that."

 **...**

Behind them, Mia had managed to successfully escape the building crowd, slipping away before she could become the focus of their cheerful attention. Using the distraction of more people coming up to greet the returnees, she walked away from the jeep, intent on finding Lieutenant Nixon.

"Planning on disappearing again, are we?"

She barely flinched at the sound of Louise's voice coming from her left. "I have to talk to Nixon", she said.

"You need to get your face checked out."

"That can wait."

Her friend chuckled and gave her a significant look. "Wait until Mom sees you. She'll have you on a truck bound for the aid station before you can say a peep", she predicted, eyeing the angry road rash and the blood creeping down into Mia's collar in tiny rivulets.

Mia shrugged the warning off, insisting softly: "It's very important, Louise."

"Don't worry", the blonde sniper promised with a smile. "I'll hold off Momma-bear for you." She sobered and continued, serious: "But you'll get checked out right afterwards, your face's got like half a street's worth of gravel in it. You can't tell me that that's healthy."

Knowing full well that any form protest was futile, Mia nodded. She was too sore and tired to argue anyways.

 **...**

As they climbed the slope, the call came for Easy Company to get back on the road. "Alright, mount up! Up, up, let's move out", Lipton spurred everyone on, standing atop a tank.

Below them, Louise and Mia heard platoon sergeants Guarnere and Martin repeat the orders. The voices of several squad leaders also chimed in to get their men moving.

The two women shared a look and a chuckle when Maxine's voice rang out, calling: "Look alive now, people, lollygagging doesn't suit you!"

Once on the road, Louise reminded her once more that she had to go to the aid station.

"I'll sit on you if I must", she threatened before heading off to reassure certain people that their missing medic was back with them and not too badly hurt.

Mia chuckled at the image. She had no doubt that her friend would make good on that threat.

* * *

Winters and Nixon observed as the men collected their gear and prepared to move out. The operation wasn't exactly going the way the British had planned and as it were, they still had a long way to go before liberating Berlin would become a realistic objective.

"Lieutenant Nixon, sir?"

They turned at the sound of Doc Arricante's voice, quiet as usual but with an urgent undertone. Nixon took one look at the blood and dirt staining the young woman's face and ODs and said: "Jesus, girl, you look like hell."

A tad less blunt, Winters also expressed his concern. "Are you alright, Doc?"

"It's not as bad as it looks", she assured them with a soft quirk of her lips before her expression grew serious once more. "Sir, I need to tell you what I heard the Germans say last night."

The battalion's intelligence officer perked up, his interest piqued. "You eavesdropped on the enemy?"

Mia shrugged, a bashful, fleeting smile crossing her face. "It was coincidence." She quickly explained how it had come to pass.

The officers looked impressed. Winters gave her an approving nod and Nixon's grin reminded her of a cat that had just caught a mouse.

"Tell us everything", the latter requested.

 **...**

And so, as they walked along the road, trucks growling and tanks rattling around them, the smouldering Eindhoven on the horizon, Mia repeated what she'd overheard. The words came haltingly as she recounted every titbit of conversation and information she had caught, all the jokes and grumblings, the orders and speculations.

The officers listened with interest, Nixon occasionally putting in a question here and there to ask for clarification.

Winters noticed how the medic's bloodied hands moved in small, inconspicuous gestures that accompanied and complemented her speech. Despite her tongue tripping over words that were less familiar, he had hardly any trouble following what she saying, her voice a stumbling but constant melody as she tried to articulate the memories in a language that wasn't quite second nature to her yet.

While he listened and his mind was going a mile a minute, Nixon also studied the woman walking between him and Dick. Her situational awareness, quick thinking and mental wherewithal might just have given them a strategic advantage. She was visibly exhausted, though, and he didn't miss the subconscious shivers that travelled down her spine, so he held back a non-vital question or six.

 **...**

"...they were told to grab their stuff and then they left", Mia concluded her report. She looked to her left and saw Nixon's mood vastly improved from when she had first approached him. "That's all I heard sir."

He clapped her on the back. "The brass is going to be very interested in what you've just told me, Doc", he told her with a grin. "Well done."

Her cheeks took on a light pinkish hue underneath the dust and blood. She ducked her head, but smiled shyly at the praise. "Thank you, sir."

Winters dismissed her with a reminder to get her injuries looked at. She promised and left, jogging to catch up to one of the trucks where she was pulled up by Heffron and More.

Nix proclaimed: "I like that girl."

Dick cracked a smile. It wasn't the first time his friend had said that about their youngest medic. And it probably wouldn't be the last. "Yeah."


	35. Chapter 35 - Hell's Highway

**Oh my goodness, I can't believe I'm actually posting a chapter on time!**

 **Thanks everybody for reading and reviewing and being really patient when I didn't upload anything for a while because I was too busy running around in real life. I really appreciate it.**

 **As always, suggestions and ideas are more than welcome :) On the next chapter or the one after that, I'll have another "what would you like to see" question for you. It's about one character dying. I'd like to know what you think. But more details to follow ;)**

 **Warning: This chapter has one rather graphic scene, so please proceed with caution!**

* * *

It took Catherine the better part of a week to stop compulsively reassuring herself of Mia's presence and well-being. She tried to keep her hovering and fussing to a minimum because she knew how uncomfortable it made the other woman, but every time she saw the bandages covering Mia's arms from wrist to elbow, a clump of guilt formed in her stomach.

Her friend had told her to stop being silly – not in those exact words, though – and rationally, she knew that it wasn't her fault, but she just couldn't help but feel responsible.

With the operation going as disastrously as it did, Catherine didn't have time to dwell on her guilt. They were engaged in a constant tug-of-war with an enemy that hopelessly, ridiculously outmatched them on a road that was soon coined _Hell's Highway_.

They liberated a town and waited for the tanks.

The Germans cut off the road behind them.

They fought to retake the same stretch of road.

The Germans bombed the town, so they moved out again.

Sometimes, they left early enough to avoid the shelling.

Sometimes, they didn't.

 **.**

They lost men. Gunfire from rifles and MGs. Mortar explosions. Strafes from German bomber squadrons. Tank shells.

The how was irrelevant, it didn't change the facts. Good people were killed, many of them replacements who just hadn't had the time and experience to develop the same battle instincts as the Toccoa veterans. Each weapon and attack caused devastation in its own way.

Theresa would maintain uncompromisingly that the railgun was the worst.

They were in a field – or was it an orchard? – somewhere along the road between Eindhoven and Nijmegen. Fighting the Germans like they had been doing practically every day of the massive pile of shit that Operation Market Garden had been from nearly the get-go.

She was shooting Krauts left and right while also keeping one eye on her replacements when out of nowhere, the ground started bucking and rumbling. With each colossal jolt, loose dirt crumbled from the walls of their hastily dug foxhole.

"Is that an earthquake?!", Pace called over the gunfire and shouts of men.

"No!", Theresa replied, shifting her aim when the man in her sights collapsed with a hole in his forehead. "Their railgun!"

Turning around, she shouted for everyone still out in the open to take cover. Cobb came hurtling into their already crowded foxhole, an angry curse on his lips, a black smear down his nose. Wedged between him and a wall of dirt, the Nebraskan spared another glance to check on her squad.

 _Boom!_ The railgun fired again, the earth lurching violently.

 **.**

Theresa was tracking Maitland's progress towards the foxhole to the immediate left of theirs when the round hit.

The sight was traumatising enough.

Her eyes closed reflexively, but it was too late. Maitland, the youngest member of her squad – probably not even 18 yet – had literally been torn to shreds. Shreds.

But the sound, the sound of that kid, dear God he was just a boy, getting blown apart, was much worse. The ripping, cracking and splattering noise pierced through Theresa's eardrums and dug itself into her brain to haunt her until the end of her days.

Blood and other, more solid...parts, rained down on them.

She gagged.

Pace shrieked, looking about as green as she felt. Cobb uttered a curse that she normally would have rebuked him for.

Theresa forced back the bile in her throat and reloaded with shaking hands and stinging eyes. She tried to ignore the itching feeling of blood drying on her face. And she pointedly didn't look at the rest, kept her eyes glued to her sights and the enemy.

* * *

They managed to retake the road with the help of the tanks that eventually showed up.

Theresa didn't feel like celebrating. She felt sick. Pace bolted as soon as the air was clear, puking his guts out three feet away from their foxhole.

 _I gotta check on him_ , Theresa thought. _I have to check on my guys._ But she couldn't move. Her chest was tight, ribcage seemingly shrinking and constricting her lungs. Her throat closed up and her vision blurred. She sat down, pulled her rifle close and started crying.

She didn't miss the startled look that crossed Cobb's face and she could sense his discomfort in the way the atmosphere shifted.

He shuffled uneasily before asking: "Uh...you want me to check on the others, Sarge?"

She never would have thought that she'd ever hear Roy Cobb sound so hesitant. "Yeah, Cobb, thanks", she managed to choke out between shuddering, hitching breaths.

He nodded. Giving her an awkward pat on the shoulder, he climbed out of the foxhole and disappeared from her field of vision.

 **.**

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jessica came to sit next to her. Theresa couldn't find the energy to acknowledge her. For once, the blonde Marylander had no witty comment or snarky quip on her tongue; she just draped an arm across her shoulders in quiet support.

When the tears dried up and Theresa could think and breathe properly again, she realised that Jessica was talking _._ Probably had been for a while. Her friend didn't seem to mind that she was only now starting to pay attention, though.

Instead, Jessica returned to the beginning of the story she had been telling without missing a beat. Theresa listened and after a while, found her lips twitching in amusement as Jessica regaled her with tales of childhood exploits and fond stories of her little brothers.

"They drive me crazy, but I love those two scallywags", she said with the longing smile of a proud sister.

Theresa could relate. "How old are they?", she wanted to know, wiping her face with her sleeve. With all the grime and blood on her uniform, some tears and a bit of snot hardly made a difference.

"David's eleven and Fabian will be in December. What about Sam?", Jessica asked back. "He's older, right?"

"Yeah, one year exactly."

Jessica paused, eyes narrowing before going wide. "Wait, so...no, you're shitting me, right? You two have the same birthday?"

The sheer incredulity in her voice along with her baffled expression drew a short chuckle out of Theresa. "Yeah."

 **.**

Less than twenty minutes later, Theresa was keeping Pace company as he struggled to handle his buddy's death.

The poor kid brokenly confessed that Maitland had indeed lied on his papers. "He's- h-he was just a few months shy of 18, Ma'am", he sniffled.

She told him that it didn't change the fact that he had been a good guy.

Pace swiped at his eyes and nodded.

 **.**

That evening, Theresa pulled small clumps of gooey red stuff out of her braid. She promptly threw up.

* * *

Nearly a week after the ambush at Nuenen, in another town they had all forgotten the name of already, Bull watched from where he was sitting nearby with Johnny, Luz and Grant as their most taciturn medic staggered out of the aid station. She had her helmet held loosely by the chin strap, revealing her shock of short hair, matted with grime and sweat and sticking up in all directions as usual. Unaware of the contemplating gaze on her, Mia ran a hand through her perpetually tousled hair and heaved a long, bodily sigh.

"What're you looking at?", Johnny questioned, a thin coat of annoyance covering the genuine curiosity in his voice. He leant forward to see what had captured his friend's attention.

Luz and Grant turned to follow his line of sight as well. "That's Mia", Luz stated unnecessarily and before anyone could say anything, he whistled through his teeth and waved her over. "Hey! Mia! C'mon over!"

He frowned at the subtle flinch the medic gave as well as the split-second moment of hesitation before she walked towards them. Looking at his comrades, he gathered that they had seen it, too. It struck them all how lost the young woman looked in that moment, presenting such a stark contrast to her generally unflappable exterior.

A mildly bewildered, faintly concerned expression was on Mia's face when she reached them.

"Do you need something?", she asked.

Luz grinned at her. "Yes, for you to sit down and take a break before you keel over."

She blinked in astonishment, then smiled tiredly. "I assume that 'keel over' means to collapse?", she said as she gingerly lowered herself down into the spot they had freed up for her, making sure not to lean into anyone's space.

"That's right", George answered easily. "And you looked about six, maybe seven seconds away from it."

"Mhm."

 **.**

Conversation revolved around rumours and gossip, as it so often did. Grant listened to Luz regaling them with one of his many humorous stories, though his attention rested on the thin figure next to the chattering radioman.

Mia followed her friend's animated narration, shoulders twitching with a soundless laugh here and there. She was scarfing down a K-ration without complaint or grimace, apparently not too bothered by the taste (or lack thereof) as she listened. The road rash on the side of her face had already faded with healing, just some scabbed areas peppering her skin now.

She laughed at a snide remark from Johnny, Chuck internally startling at the realisation that this was the first time he had heard the young woman laugh. A glance towards Johnny and Bull told him that he wasn't the only one.

"Say, Doc", he piped up, nodding to the ration in her hands. "How can you eat this crap without pulling a face?"

She smiled and shrugged. "I'm too focused on swallowing it down to pull a face."

Luz cackled, which made the others register that they had just witnessed Mia Arricante, the oddly quiet medic with the kind smile and unreadable expression, crack a joke.

 **.**

Their conversation followed twists and turns until Bull said: "You know, after Nuenen, I was wondering if you got family on the other side?"

The young woman baulked at the question, muscles stiffening. Guarded blue eyes shifted to each of them. Then, after a long moment of silence, she looked away and nodded her head.

"You got family with the enemy?", Johnny questioned, taken aback. From the looks of it, not even Luz had known about this.

Her gaze snapped to him. "They didn't have a choice", she defended emphatically, misinterpreting his shocked tone. "They're not Nazis."

"They were drafted?", Grant ventured.

Mia nodded, eyes flickering over before dropping away to focus on a dark stain on her knee. "Everyone. My uncle and both cousins", she said softly. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as her brows drew together in a sad, worried and wary expression that Chuck decided he didn't like seeing on her.

"The last I heard", she continued, "they were still alive." 5 months ago, when Uncle Stephan's division had been sent to Southern France for refitting while Rolf and Adrian's unit had still been at the Eastern Front.

 **.**

The quiet admission slammed into their guts like a ton of bricks. None of them had truly realised just how difficult this had to be for her. Johnny was first to recover and he asked how she got news from her family if they were "on the other side" as he put it.

Her lips pursed into a tiny smile as some of the tension drained from her frame. She explained that her mother and aunt wrote to each other and that her mother kept her updated as best she could.

"Isn't that dangerous?", Bull frowned. The censors were one thing but he was pretty sure that mail in and out of Germany was heavily monitored on both sides of the Atlantic.

She shrugged, but didn't contradict him. "Aunt Sophie has many contacts", she said. "If it gets too dangerous, she can leave the country very fast."

Luz grinned at that and made a joke about how her aunt sounded like she'd make an awesome spy. Johnny shot back that Luz would of course be terrible at that with his big mouth. The mood lightened instantly as they dissolved into good-natured bickering and ribbing.

Mia smiled to herself as she scraped the last bits of her ration out of its can.

Chuck rolled his eyes and turned to the medic, commenting jokingly: "You know, I still can't believe that you can eat this stuff without pulling a face."

She peered at him and giggled softly, a light blush spreading on her cheeks, the colour highlighting the still-healing scabs on her face.

* * *

In each town they liberated, Louise and Ryan had a separate mission. They evaluated possible sniper perches and cleared them, often with the help of the Dutch Resistance.

Mostly, there weren't any problems worth mentioning. Louise dealt with any unwanted advances in her usual way – with liberal cursing and pointed threats. Ryan was happy to stand back and let her handle it, taking a gleeful pleasure in watching the blonde cut the offenders to size with words.

One day, Louise explained to a big-headed idiot that she'd dangle him over the balcony like an old carpet if he didn't lose the leering gaze. Ryan couldn't keep himself from grinning and he thought he might have just fallen in love a little.

"You should write a book", he said as they climbed down the wobbly stairs from the attic they had checked.

She turned her head to look at him, eyebrow arched, storm only gradually retreating from her features.

"That threat was pure poetry", he continued, taking out the rudimentary map of the town that the Dutch had provided them with. "The sleazebag looked ready to shit his pants."

 **.**

They stepped out into the street and headed to the next potential perch.

Louise huffed. "Walking piece of garbage", she grumbled under her breath, but the corners of her mouth were quirking upwards. "I really wanted to punch him."

"Oh I could see that", he told her with a laugh. "And I applaud your self-restraint."

She snorted, the smile fully spreading on her face. "Well, I do my best", she quipped with a teasing look.

They sobered up before they entered the building. It had been a rare occurrence, but once or twice, the enemy sniper positions had still been manned. So, they decided to err on the side of caution and retain the element of surprise as best they could.

After all, they never knew what would be waiting for them behind the next corner.

* * *

Days and weeks blurred into a continuous stream of fighting, blood and misery. Despite being protected by the Geneva convention as non-combatants, medics weren't impervious to injury and death. To fill in the gaps, they were forced into a macabre game of 'musical companies', getting borrowed and loaned out by all companies of the battalion.

Kneeling on the ground, scuffed knee pads grinding against pebbles and debris, Catherine fashioned a splint amidst the noisy mess of gunfire and shouting. Her patient had had his leg shattered by a flying piece of wall. A piece of the broken bone protruded from his shin.

He writhed and moaned; his hands clamped around his upper thigh.

"Shhh, it's okay", Catherine soothed, wishing that the morphine would take effect already. Splinting the badly mangled limb without the pain-killing medicine would be hell.

The fighting seemed to move away from where she was if the noise level was anything to go by. She lifted her head for a moment to survey the street. Rubble, bodies strewn about, a smattering of people with red crosses on their helmets taking care of the wounded.

She sighed and steeled herself.

 **.**

Even with the syrette's numbing properties, the poor guy was in a world of pain. Catherine worked as fast as she could, realigning the broken bones with sharp, precise movements.

He cried in agony.

A gunshot rang out. A bullet zipped past her and buried itself in the wall behind her.

"Hey!", somebody shouted.

Catherine looked up and flinched when another shot hit close to her. Closer than the other one. A German soldier advanced on her, yelling something. His rifle was pointing right at her. She ignored him for a moment, focusing on her patient. His cries dissolved into sobbing pleas as she finished the splint. "Shh, I know. It's almost over, hold on."

 **.**

"Verpiss dich!"

"Sag mal, geht's noch?! Was ist denn in dich gefahren?!"

The two voices drew her attention again, especially since one of them clearly belonged to the man that had fired at her twice. He was still yelling, angrily gesturing with his rifle.

Catherine could only make out a handful of words and understood maybe three of those.

The other man that was obviously arguing with his comrade was one of the German medics who had been tending to the wounded.

The Hawaiian turned back to her patient. She pulled out bandages and sulfa and started dressing the young man's other wounds. He whimpered and snivelled, eyes glassy and unfocused.

 **.**

Another shot.

It struck dirt, less than a foot away from her.

The soldier was screaming at her. The other medic was shouting at him. The man with the shattered leg had finally, mercifully passed out. The soldier was only a few footsteps away, rifle still at the ready. He was frothing at the mouth, ranting and raving unintelligibly.

Her heart hammered in her throat. "Sanitäter!", she called to him, praying that he'd understand. Mia had taught them all some of the most vital vocabulary for combat medics, but it wasn't enough for a situation like this.

The German medic's voice had taken on a desperate pitch. "Nimm das Gewehr runter, verdammte Scheisse! Das ist ein Sani, siehst du doch! Bist du komplett übergeschnappt?!"

The soldier's finger tightened on the trigger again. The barrel pointed straight at her forehead.

 **.**

It seemed like somebody had wrapped an invisible rope around Catherine's neck. It was strangling her. The yelling and clamouring blended into a distorted roar. She was rooted to the spot, hands continuing their task autonomously as she stared at the raging soldier.

This was it. She was going to die.

 _Bang!_

Catherine jumped, a pitiful yelp escaping her.

The soldier's body hit the ground with a thud and a clatter. He didn't even twitch. Her gaze slid over to the German medic. He stared back at her with wide, frantic eyes, horrified, shocked and deeply apologetic.

Attempting to swallow even though her mouth was completely dry, Catherine blinked a few times and pulled in a gulp of air.

And another.

 _Keep it together, Catherine. You have a job to do. Keep it together._

She couldn't remember much after that.

* * *

The next clear memory she had was of sitting on a pile of debris next to the aid station, eyes fixed on a scorch mark on the pavement without really seeing it.

A shadow fell on her, jerking her out of her daze. She rocked back and came face to face with possibly the single-most intimidating person in the entire division.

 **.**

Speirs had heard what had transpired and he'd decided to check on Easy's ranking medic before sending her back to her own company. Already from several feet away, he noticed that she was shaking. He supposed it wasn't unusual after staring down the business end of a rifle.

"Wilson", he said when the medic finally registered his presence. The pallor and jumpiness weren't unexpected either.

"Lieutenant Speirs, sir", she responded, returning to herself. Her voice shook a little, but her startled expression quickly became professional.

"Everything alright?"

A frown appeared on her face as she considered the question. "I'll be fine, sir", was the answer she eventually gave. "I was just shaken."

Speirs knew that quite a number of people would have been fooled by her response. Her tone was placating, her small smile reassuring. But he saw right through it. Wilson had lots of practice downplaying her own distress for the benefit of her children and while she was good, she was nowhere near as skilled at masking her thoughts and emotions as a certain other female combat medic.

 **.**

Catherine could see that the lieutenant didn't quite believe her. His brow lifted a fraction while his blank gaze bored into her. But he didn't call her out on her evasion, which she appreciated.

"You did good, Sergeant", he said instead, a clear note of respect in his tone.

Maybe it was just the lingering nerves or her imagination, but Catherine could have sworn that there had been a tiny hint of a smile on his face.

Deciding not to dwell on it, she thanked him and got to her feet.

By the time the mother of two reached Easy, word of her encounter had already run its course and she was greeted with great relief and enthusiasm.

The incident was quickly added to the Toccoa veterans' repertoire of stories about their company's women pulling off death-defying stunts, holding their own against all odds or just generally being pretty awesome in their eyes.

The stories and with it, the women's reputation, grew every day, spreading further and further across companies, regiments and divisions. There would always be malicious tongues whispering ugly words, but they were being drowned out by the supportive voices that recounted the tales of those strong, brave and capable girl paratroopers.


	36. Chapter 36 - The Island

**Please note that I don't speak Spanish. I can understand little bits and pieces, but that's it. So if there are any mistakes, please tell me :)**

* * *

Bill Guarnere was a nosy person by nature. He liked being in the know and that included gossip. He was always privy of the latest rumours and up to speed on foxhole talk. So of course, he had heard all the stories about Lieutenant Speirs from Dog Company that were circulating in the battalion (and further). And as a Toccoa veteran, it was old news to him that Speirs and Mia Arricante, Easy's most elusive medic, had some kind of connection. But the exact nature of that bond, now that was something not even Wild Bill knew for sure.

Maxine had told him that they were friends, but Bill honestly found that rather hard to believe because how would that work? Mia, the soft-spoken and kind girl that shied away from too much attention, friends with Speirs, the man with the blank stare that had shot his own sergeant?

Even after catching a small glimpse of interaction between them, Bill wasn't quite sure what to think.

Speirs had spoken to Mia after she and Bull had returned from being MIA in Nuenen. Bill had only witnessed the scene from afar, but the lieutenant had looked at the medic's injuries, cupping her chin to turn her head with something he was hesitant to describe as care.

Mia had tolerated the physical contact despite famously preferring her personal space. She had smiled and probably assured him that she was alright – at least that's what Bill had guessed from her body language.

Speirs had withdrawn his hand and they had exchanged a few more words before the lieutenant had given her a smile – Bill would have thought he'd been dreaming if it weren't for the fact that it had been bright day – and briefly put a hand on her shoulder before leaving.

 **.**

Naturally, Bill jumped at the chance to investigate the mystery that had most of the company scratching their heads. Apart from a select few more insightful and/or knowledgeable individuals like Lipton, Maxine and Louise. Though the sniper wasn't saying anything and Lip was too considerate to discuss what wasn't his business.

So when he ended up sharing a foxhole with the young woman one night, Bill seized the opportunity. After all, it wasn't just about satisfying his own curiosity, but also to have something to shut down the more maliciously inclined whispers about Mia. He waited until she had settled after coming back from her rounds, drenched from the thunderstorm the skies were bestowing onto them tonight.

Then, he asked: "What's the deal between you and Lt Speirs?"

She looked at him. "The deal?", she questioned. She sounded somewhere between confused and surprised, but it was difficult to read her face in the dark.

"You know, what's going on with you and him", he clarified with a shrug, tone nonchalant and neutral. He was pretty sure that there wasn't a romantic side to their relationship because neither she nor Speirs struck him as the type of person to stupidly risk their position like that.

Comprehension lit up her eyes just as a flash of lightning briefly illuminated her face. "Oh", she made, smiling softly. "I don't know. I think we're friends?"

The questioning inflection had Bill raising an eyebrow and he probed: "You think?"

"Naja...I don't know if that works", came the halting explanation, almost drowned out by the thunder rolling above them. "He's an officer...and I'm not completely sure if I'm his friend."

"But you like him?"

Mia nodded. "Yes", she said simply, "he's nice."

Bill's eyebrows made a valiant attempt at touching his hairline. "Nice?", he parroted. There were countless other words he would have expected, but 'nice' really wasn't an attribute he'd associate with 'Lieutenant Speirs'.

She shifted and pulled her knees up. The next crack of lighting left him with an afterimage of her expression – hesitant and a little defensive. But night time had a tendency to strip away masks and walls, making people more open and honest than in the cold light of day.

"He is nice", Mia repeated, her light voice mixing with the steady drumming of the rain. "He lets me be me and doesn't care what people say."

 _Mutual acceptance_. The term popped into Bill's mind as he remembered Max using it when they had discussed this exact topic.

 **.**

Mia wanted to know why he'd asked, suppressing a yawn.

Inspired by night's mystical properties, Bill told her about the scene he'd witnessed, a private moment between friends (or at least companions if she was hesitant to use the word friendship).

"Oh."

He frowned, unable to place the emotion in her tone. Embarrassment? It wasn't annoyance or anger. Maybe chagrin? Or worse: Worry and fear? "I didn't mean to", he explained himself. "And I didn't tell anyone. Figured it's none of my business."

A chuckle drifted through the rain and he saw a flash of her smile. "I don't want people to get the wrong idea", she confessed after a pause, growling thunder underlining her words. "We...we're friends" – the unsure hitch in her tone told him that it wasn't the perfect description for their relationship – "and friends care about each other. We're not lovers."

Bill hadn't expected her to be so blunt and choked on a surprised laugh. "Got it", he managed, mock-glaring at the dark silhouette of the young medic as she snickered softly.

"I'm quite sure that's what many people think", Mia said, cheer mellowing out in her voice. "But they're wrong." She cleared her throat and was serious again. "Can you keep this to yourself, please?"

He huffed and would have been offended by her request if he hadn't just gotten a sense of her hidden insecurity and the constant niggling concern at the back of her mind about being rejected and scorned.

"Don't you worry, Doc", he said easily, blindly patting her bony shin. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks, Bill."

As he drifted off into alight (and most likely extremely short-lived) sleep, Bill thought to himself that this was probably the most he had ever heard the quiet girl talk.

* * *

Things only got worse when they were moved to The Island. The low-lying area between the Waal River in the South and the Rhine River in the North was cut off to all sides by rivers and canals. The Germans had the high ground on the north bank of the Rhine and could see basically every move the Allies made. With lots of artillery and seemingly endless supplies of ammo, they kept shelling the Allies almost nonstop.

The 101st was stretched thin as they took over holding their assigned piece of the line from the British 43rd Wessex Division. The only way for the OPs to keep contact was through patrols, runners and radio. Everyone was tired, tense and filthy, stuck in foxholes with near-constant shellfire raining down on them. Tempers ran short, the paratroopers unused to such static warfare. The feelings of annoyance and restlessness were only aggravated by the general exhaustion. Nothing happened apart from all the shelling and sporadic skirmishes when a German patrol crossed their line or the other way around.

 **.**

After losing far too many people during Market Garden, the newest batch of replacements arrived to bolster their dwindling numbers. The veterans hadn't thought it possible, but these kids were even more inexperienced and green than the last ones.

"Jesus Christ, were we this bad, too?", Andrews muttered to McClung as they watched Maxine demonstrate the quickest way to check and clean the breech block on their M1s to the new boys in their squad.

McClung smirked and shook his head. "No", he whispered back. "You guys were green, but this? This is just painful."

Two of the new boys managed to mix up their breech blocks, resulting in two momentarily non-operational rifles.

Maxine pinched the bridge of her nose, even her patience wearing thin after all these weeks of no sleep and constant fighting. But she kept herself in check and sternly impressed on them the importance of knowing which parts belonged to which rifle. "If you can't tell them apart, mark them in some way so this doesn't happen again", she finished, wiping her hands on her trousers. With all the dirt on her ODs, a couple of gun-grease smears would blend right in.

They nodded and mumbled a sheepish "Yes Ma'am" before putting their rifles back together again, properly this time.

 **.**

One bright spot, however, managed to briefly raise everyone's spirits a little. Especially Fox Company's because one of their own returned against all odds.

Everyone had been certain that after she'd had a piece of shrapnel lodged in her skull in Normandy, Cassandra Jessup would be shipped home. Many had quietly wondered if she'd even survive. So naturally, shock and stunned disbelief were the most common first reactions when Cassandra showed up at the battalion CP a few days after their arrival on The Island.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer", the South Dakotan said tongue-in-cheek in response to the many stares. She had four months of practise ignoring the way people's eyes grew wide at the sight of the raised, jagged scar that her hair likely wouldn't ever hide completely.

"Well, excuse us for staring", a familiar voice said behind her, sarcasm sparkling with laughter, "after all, last time we saw you, you were only bleeding out all over Ray's pants."

Smiling ruefully, Cassandra greeted her company's First Sergeant, Melrin Shennum. They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries before Shennum, still not quite over his surprise, asked: "But seriously, what the hell are you doing here?"

She shrugged. "The doctors said I could go back or go home", she answered, as if that explained everything. It did.

"And naturally, you picked this shithole instead of a one-way ticket back stateside", he concluded, shaking his head with a half-incredulous smile. He clapped her on the shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Jessup."

"Thanks, Sarge." Slinging her rifle down from her shoulder, Cassandra then wanted to know: "Where is Ray?"

Shennum hid a smirk since he'd been waiting for this question. "Out on the OP", he answered. "She'll be glad to have her A-gunner back."

Relieved to hear that her friend was alright, Cassandra accepted the box of MG ammo that he wanted her to take to the OP.

"God, I feel awful looking spit-shined clean while you guys have been slogging through the dirt for weeks", she commented, wrinkling her nose at her near-spotless ODs.

"Don't worry, by tonight, you'll look like everyone else", the First Sergeant reassured her drily, turning around to wave over one of the replacements who was about to start his shift on the line. "Pescini, take some more ammo with you, Easy's third platoon is running low after this morning", he instructed.

"Yes sir."

 **.**

On their way to the line, Cassandra was filled in on their current situation, which sounded just as discouraging and frustrating as it really was, by PFC James C. Pescini. He seemed like a good kid, not as energetic and overeager for battle as some of the other replacements she'd encountered on her way here.

"Sergeant Maynard is gonna be happy to have you back, Ma'am", he commented on their way to the supply depot to get the additional munitions for their sister company.

Cassandra hummed indistinctly and returned: "She'll scold me first for coming back."

Pescini chuckled. "Well, to be honest, Ma'am, I don't think many people would have come back with an injury like yours", he said. To his credit, his eyes only briefly flickered to the scar before he focused on the way in front of them again.

"I was lucky. The metal didn't go through the bone", she told him. To keep things from getting too dark and depressing, she added lightly: "But I had one hell of a headache for about a month."

He snorted in amusement, lips curling into a small smile. "Yeah, I can imagine that."

 **.**

Cassandra's prediction proved to be right. Audrey laid eyes on her friend and assistant gunner, let out a gasp and managed to wrap her in a near-crushing hug despite the tight quarters before demanding: "What the hell are you doing here? Did that shrapnel scramble your brains?"

"Missed you too, Ray", Cassandra replied fondly, deciding to be mature about it and stick her tongue out to her. "It takes more than a little scrap of metal to put me out of commission."

The New Zealander was distinctly unimpressed. "That 'little scrap of metal' punched a hole into your skull", she clarified, a frown on her dirty face.

"I know. But the doctor said I could come back if I really wanted."

Audrey made a strangled noise at the back of her throat that was somewhere between a scoff and a helpless laugh. Then slowly, a smile spread on her face, the frown clearing off her expression. "I'm glad you're okay, Celia."

"Of course you are", Cassandra retorted with a wry smirk, nudging her with her body. "I'm the only one besides you who knows how to handle that wonky tripod."

Audrey stuck out her tongue and they both giggled before silence settled over the OP again.

Until the Germans decided to send the next barrage of MG fire and artillery shells their way.

* * *

Because they didn't really have enough manpower for all the ground they had to cover, regular patrols became necessary to make sure the enemy didn't slip through any of the gaps between their OPs. Though apparently, the Germans didn't have men galore either.

One night in early October, Theresa and some members of her squad were sent on a recon patrol. Frustrated and worn out as they were, the last things they wanted to do was creep through the low flood land, cross drainage ditches and climb the high, sloped dykes.

Lesniewski was on point and walked ahead, carefully picking his way up the slope of the dyke while the rest of the patrol waited at the bottom, rifles ready. Liebgott grumbled under his breath, scowling at the mud caking large parts of his left pantleg from when he'd slipped five minutes prior. Theresa shushed him silently, giving him a pointed glare because they were on light _and_ noise discipline, for fuck's sake.

Things went wrong.

Badly.

Lesniewski came hurtling back down the slope, hollering a warning.

But it was too late.

 **.**

Gunfire erupted on the dyke, spewing bullets down on them. Theresa ducked instinctively and raised her voice to get her squad moving.

Something sailed over the dyke and hit the ground in an explosion that left her blinking away white spots.

In front of her, Alley went down like a sack of potatoes, a scream of pain tearing from his throat.

Somebody sucked in a sharp breath, somebody swore.

Her stomach filled with ice.

"Lesniewski, Liebgott, grab Alley!", she ordered. "Pace, Helak, covering fire! C'mon, let's go!"

 **.**

Two men weren't enough to carry Alley's limp weight, so Theresa had Pace take the lead while she went to help Liebgott and Lesniewski. Even in the dark, she could tell that Alley was in bad shape. He was only semi-conscious, moaning intermittently as he was jostled this way and that on their hurried retreat.

 _Dear God, please let us be fast enough_ , she prayed frantically.

Another part of her brain – one that wasn't preoccupied with getting her squad out of there – cursed her. _This is your fault! This wouldn't have happened if you'd just enforced noise discipline. Alley is wounded because of you._

She shoved the thoughts aside. There was no time for self-recrimination. Alley needed a Doc, now.

 **.**

They stopped only briefly when they were out of reach of the enemy's bullets to remove Alley's gear. Pace volunteered to carry it, already slinging the rifle and musette bag onto his back before anyone could open their mouths to agree.

"Let's go", Theresa urged, cradling Alley's head once more as they lifted him up. Warm blood seeped through her fingers and into the fabric of her ODs. "Hurry!"

* * *

They burst into the barn that was housing First Platoon. Pace slammed the door open and shouted: "We got penetration!"

A dog barked.

"Alley's hurt", Liebgott added, voice strained, "we need a Doc!"

Men appeared from all sides as they jumped up from the benches and tables or scrambled down from the loft. Theresa payed no mind to the flurry of activity around her, her attention on her wounded comrade.

"Get him on the table", she directed, shifting her hold so they could hoist Alley onto the table that had hastily been cleared.

Winters stepped in and sent Boyle to get a medic, the man rushing off without hesitation. In the dim lighting of the barn, they finally got a good look at Alley's injuries. They were extensive, blood covering a large part of his chest. Ana María materialised at Alley's side, catching the hand that was weakly grasping at air. _Señor ten piedad e aleja su dolor_.

Confusion flickered on Alley's blood-splattered features. He tried to move his head, which Theresa prevented so he wouldn't aggravate the nasty wound to his neck.

She smoothed back his hair. "Shhh, stay sill."

"Where am I?", he asked, eyes dazedly roving around before they managed to focus onto Lipton. "Something happened, what happened?"

Theresa's heart constricted painfully at the questions, guilt rearing its head. She bit down on the inside of her cheek while Lip gently reassured him that it was going to be okay.

 **.**

"Where was it?", Winters wanted to know.

"At the crossroads, sir", Theresa answered, tearing her gaze away from Alley to look at the CO. At the same time, she noticed Liebgott unfurling a pressure bandage and it hit her like a ton of bricks. He was hurt, too. Blood was trickling down his neck to the collar of his shirt, a patch of deep red slowly soaking into the fabric. _Jesus, are the others hurt, too?_

Unaware of her scrutiny, Liebgott tacked on: "Where the road crosses the dyke." He pressed the bandage against his wound, but with only one hand, he couldn't tie it off.

"If it wasn't for your loud mouth, they'd never known we were there!", Lesniewski burst out, glaring accusingly at the man next to him, who promptly argued back: "Hey, you know what, Joe? Back off!"

Dukeman tried to step between the two in an attempt to defuse the tension. He opened his mouth to placate them, but Theresa was faster.

"Hey! Zip it, you two!", she snapped, glaring at them. The situation was bad enough without them tearing at each other's throats. Plus, if anybody was to blame for this mess, it was her and her alone.

 **.**

Before the argument could continue, Winters cut in with orders. "Lesniewski, send a runner for Lieutenant Welsh. Lipton, assemble me a squad."

Lipton acknowledged with a quiet "Yes sir" before raising his head and hollering: "First squad, on your feet! Weapons and ammo only, let's move!"

The crowd around the table dispersed as everyone ran to grab their gear. Ana María stayed, taking over the task of soothing Alley. In her mind, she was still sending prayer upon prayer heavenward, begging the Lord to spare her friend.

"Ana María?", he mumbled, blinking at her.

She gave him a smile and squeezed his hand, her thumb gently brushing over his knuckles. "Hey Moe."

Roe arrived, pushing through the soldiers and immediately taking charge. "Nolan, get the boots off and elevate the legs", he ordered. "Liebgott, use the sulfa, not too much. Hernandez, keep talking to him, keep him awake."

They complied, moving quickly while also trying not to cause Alley any more pain.

 **.**

"C'mon, let's go!", Cobb called, pushing a stack of ammo clips at his squad sergeant when he passed her on the way out.

Liebgott stepped away from the table and made to follow.

Theresa stopped him with a shake of her head. "Not you. Stay here, help Doc with Alley."

Baffled indignation sparked up in his eyes and he protested: "Don't be stupid, Reese, I'm not gonna sit this one out."

"Yes, you will. You got hit in the neck."

That caught Roe's interest if the way his gaze flashed to Liebgott for a moment before returning to Alley was any indication. She refused to feel guilty for the underhanded move.

Liebgott scoffed. "So the fuck what? I'm fine."

He tried to push past her, but she held her ground and stared him down, not intimidated by his mutinous glare. "You're staying", she repeated firmly. He might hate her for this, but she wasn't going to lose another man because of this patrol.

"Like hell-"

Her temper flared, frayed nerves snapping her patience. "This is not a debate, Liebgott!" Her hand sliced through the air as if to physically cut him off. "You're not going and that is final!" With that, she whirled around and left, falling into step with Jessica who had waited for her.

 **.**

"I sent a runner to get another medic", Jessica informed her between two breaths as they ran to catch up to the rest of the squad.

Theresa nodded. "Thanks, Jess, good thinking", she said absently, forcing down the acidic guilt churning in her gut.


	37. Chapter 37 - Crossroads

**Hey guys! Before I get to the question I wanted to ask you all, I just want to thank you for reading and reviewing this story. I'm really happy that you enjoy my writing and it's extremely interesting to read your thoughts on the story and characters.**

 **Now, as I already mentioned a few chapters ago, there's a question I want to ask you about one of the characters dying. To give you some context: Soon, we'll be getting to the end of the episode and Easy is going to Bastogne. I already have it fixed that one of the women is going to die during the Battle of the Bulge.**

 **But what I would like your opinion is: "Who is going to die and how is it going to happen?"**

 **For example, you could say something like: "Esther. She's going to die of exposure and freeze to death. Her friends find her in the morning."**

 **Or maybe: "Catherine dies shielding a patient from a mortar explosion."**

 **You get the idea. So let me know what your ideas are and I'll see what works best with the rest of the plans I already have :) I'm looking forward to reading your suggestions and opinions.**

* * *

Catherine entered First Platoon's lodgings, taking in the scene.

Roe was treating Alley with his usual efficiency and care while Ana María held the wounded man's hand and talked to him. And then, off to the side, there was Liebgott, fuming quietly as he sat on a bench, glaring at some hay strewn on the floor like he was waiting for it to spontaneously combust.

Knowing that Gene and Ana had everything well in hand, she made a beeline for Liebgott. The red-soaked bandage he was half-heartedly pressing against his neck did nothing to inspire confidence in her.

"Hey Liebgott", she greeted him, setting down her bag. "What happened?" She already knew what happened, but she wanted to see how much he'd try to downplay his injury.

He continued scowling at the hay. "Got pinged by some frag", he answered after a long beat, sounding about as mulish as her daughter sometimes did when she was sulking.

She didn't comment on that, though, just nodded and pulled out a fresh bandage. "Alright, let's take a look at your neck."

Now he aimed his scowl at her. "I'm fine", he grumbled.

 _If I had a dime every time somebody said that..._

"Sure", Catherine agreed easily and moved his hand and the stained bandage out of the way. Wiping away some blood, she examined the wound.

 **.**

He had been extremely lucky. The shrapnel from that potato masher could have cut his carotid or jugular and he'd never have made it back from the patrol. But as it was, the cut was shallow and while it bled quite a bit, it wasn't life-threatening.

A statement that Louise had once made about her friend, only half in jest, popped into her mind unbiddenly. "As long as Liebgott is bitching, he's alright. When he stops grouching, that's when you can start worrying."

Apparently, Louise had been right.

"You'll be okay", Catherine told him. She only got a terse huff in response. Cleaning away the rest of the blood with iodine swabs while carefully avoiding the wound itself, she asked: "Do you want to keep glaring at the hay or are you going to tell me what has you so angry?"

He didn't reply, simply went back to moodily frowning at the floor.

 **.**

Gene was meanwhile finishing up bandaging the last of the 32 wounds that were littering the left side of Alley's face, neck and arm. Ana María was still holding a one-sided conversation with the wounded man, chatting to him about Florida, art and Puerto Rican traditions.

Alley had calmed down significantly since he had first been brought in and now, his half-lidded gaze was solely on Ana María. He seemed almost oblivious to Gene's ministrations. Not that the Cajun minded. It made his job a lot easier and Ana María's voice was quite nice to listen to.

Catherine stepped over to them to help transfer Alley onto the stretcher that would take him to the aid station and from there off to the hospital. Gene went with him and Ana María decided to update the other platoons on the situation since she soon had to head out to one of Third's OPs anyways.

Telling them to go ahead, Catherine turned back to Liebgott. Anger was still radiating off him, clouding his features.

 **.**

Sitting down next to him, she sighed and hazarded a guess. "Is this about Theresa telling you to stay here?"

His jaw muscles worked. Then, he spat: "Who the fuck does she think she is?!"

Catherine's eyebrows jumped towards her hairline before lowering again. "Your sergeant", she reminded him pointedly. "And your friend."

"Yeah right", he snorted, but his voice had lost some of its bite. He shook his head. "I should be out there with them."

"You're injured."

"I'm fine", he exclaimed, flicking an accusing hand towards her, "You said it yourself!"

Catherine confirmed with a hum. "Yes, but she couldn't know that for sure.", she said, leaning forward. "Reese is just looking out for you."

"I don't need her looking out for me", Liebgott muttered.

Catherine got up abruptly, blowing out a breath that hissed with exasperation. She was too sleep-deprived for this. "Well, that's too bad, Liebgott", she told him, distinctly unamused as her hand swept in a terse arc, "because whether you like it or not, Theresa is doing what she can to keep you and the rest of her squad alive."

She studied him for a second before turning away to collect her supplies, deciding that she couldn't do more than say her piece. Giving him the space to think about their conversation seemed like the best course of action.

Liebgott stayed quiet, frowning as he considered Catherine's words.

 **.**

"Now come on", the ranking medic said when she was done, her tone extending a tacit olive branch. "Let's get you to the aid station. You need stitches."

He didn't put up a fight this time, wrapped up in his emotions and thoughts as he was. "Yes Mom." The moniker had no spikes and barbs, was only wrapped in tiredness.

* * *

Mathematically and strategically speaking, they had won the battle at the crossroads. According to Lt Peacock, they had been lucky. Up against more than a company's worth of SS soldiers, Easy had lost only 11 men while a number of others had been wounded. The first casualty of the fight had been Dukeman. A piece of shrapnel had gone in one shoulder and out the other, right through the heart. He had been dead long before he'd hit the ground. Among the wounded were Webster, who had been hit in the leg and Boyle, who had suffered severe injuries in an artillery blast.

Mia watched quietly from the distance as Jessica herded their prisoners off, gripping her rifle tight as she snapped instructions. She silently approved of Winters' decision to have Jessica escort the prisoners to HQ. It got the blonde away from the battlefield and since Winters had directly ordered her to report to the aid station immediately afterwards, her injuries from the patrol would also finally be tended to.

Turning away, the medic's gaze caught on the isolated silhouette of their CO. She studied the set of his shoulders and the lines of his stance for a brief moment before moving over to where Gene was serving coffee. Spotting two more people that looked deep in thought and in dire need of coffee, she changed her order from one cup to three.

Gene handed her the full cups, nodding when he followed the explanatory tilt of her head. As she passed him, he asked "Are you alright?" in a low undertone, so nobody else would overhear it.

Mia paused in her steps to give him a tiny, pained smile and shrug before she continued on her way.

Gene held back a sigh, knowing that there really wasn't anything either of them could say. _Seigneur, aie pitié d'elle,_ he thought, refocusing on his task.

 **.**

Lipton frowned to himself when he saw Theresa sit by herself, head in her hands, elbows braced on her bent knees.

"Lipton?"

Mia's quiet voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he turned to the medic, accepting the proffered cup of coffee with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Doc. Is Theresa alright?", he asked, gesturing with an elbow into the other woman's direction.

Knowing eyes slid over to the solitary figure. "She only has a few scratches", Mia answered. "But it was a hard night for her. I think she's fed up." She handed him another cup of coffee and said with an honest quirk of her mouth: "You'll make her feel better."

Smiling at the genuine confidence the young woman had in him, Lipton walked over to Theresa. She heard him approach and lifted her head, revealing her expression that had previously been hidden behind her hands. Lips pinched in a thin line, eyebrows drawn together, brown eyes burning with vexation.

The fierce gaze zeroed in on the two cups in his hands and Lip extended one, settling next to her while she drank what seemed like half her cup in one gulp. He took a moment to study her further.

Splotches of Alley's blood stained her jacket. Her short braid was unravelling, one sweaty strand stuck to her forehead. Her long, thin fingers caked with dried blood under a coating of dirt. And her entire body wrapped in that same mixture of tension and weariness that they were all experiencing.

 **.**

Theresa blew out an aggravated sigh and shook her head. "I am so done with this", she divulged without preamble, stressing the 'so'. "If I never have to see this place again, it'll be too soon."

Lipton nodded, sharing the sentiment. He gave a small non-committal hum, waiting for her to continue.

"A wonder my hair isn't grey yet after this shitty night", she muttered. Another explosive sigh followed a gulp of coffee. "No thanks to my squad. First Alley gets hit" – she dipped her head – "not that it's his fault, it's nobody's fault except the guy who threw that potato masher."

"But then Liebgott and Lesniewski are at each other's throats over _my_ failure. Then I have to pull rank on Liebgott because he actually thinks he can go back in the field with an honest to God hole in his neck and then Jessica holds a goddamn turkey shoot!"

Rant over, Theresa's posture melted into pure exhaustion. She swiped a hand across her face and looked at him.

"I feel bad for being angry, though", she admitted despairingly. "I mean, I'm this close" – she raised her hand to show her thumb and index finger an inch apart – "to smacking somebody upside the head, but I can understand them."

"Lesniewski and Liebgott are both feeling guilty that Alley got hurt, it's no wonder things got a little heated. Now Liebgott obviously wanted to avenge his friend, but he was also bleeding badly, so I couldn't let him come. And Jess... Jess just hates the Germans and that these SS bastards claimed to be Polish doesn't help any."

"You know your men well", Lipton smiled, familiar with the Nebraskan's knack for analysing people.

She shrugged and said: "They're my responsibility." Her face fell and he would have had to be blind to miss the guilt that splayed across her dust-smudged features.

He leant forward. "It wasn't your fault that Alley was wounded."

She huffed a disbelieving laugh. Self-condemnation rang in her wavering tone clear as a bell. "It was, Lip", she said. "I was leading that patrol. I should have enforced noise discipline properly. It was my fault."

Lipton reached out and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "From what I heard, you did your best under the circumstances. Sometimes, that's all you can do, the rest is outside of your control." He squeezed her shoulder. "You're a good leader, Theresa. And a good person."

She mustered a small smile. "Thanks, Lip."

"Anytime, Reese."

* * *

Dick managed to conceal how badly Doc Arricante startled him when she suddenly appeared next to him. When it came to stealth, nobody could hold a candle to her, he mused fondly as he took the cup of coffee that she held out to him.

"It doesn't make it better", the young woman's lightly accented voice drifted softly through the morning air, "but he was in the SS."

Once more, Dick couldn't help but be both amused and impressed by the fact that she knew what had him so distracted.

Possibly the most inconspicuous members of the company, Mia was still quite a mystery to many of them. Not one to talk unless she had something to say, hard to read and reputed to be nigh-unflappable, she was easily underestimated despite the fact that she could hold her own against even the fieriest and fiercest of Easy – after all, she was particularly close with their resident sniper, who certainly fit that description.

But while she often went unnoticed due to her private and quiet nature, her perceptiveness could rival that of people like Catherine or Lipton and she was great at piecing together the truth or real version of a story from all the rumours and conversational snippets she snatched up.

Despite the wealth of gossip she was privy to, she was far too discreet to share any of it, making her an excellent secret-keeper. Dick liked that about her and so he didn't mind overmuch that she had caught him in this moment of weakness.

"He was just a kid", he responded.

Blue eyes filled with a paradoxical mix of sad compassion and hard iron hit him from the side. "A kid from the SS. The SS is filled only with those that believe all the shit Hitler, Himmler and Goebbels say." There was a raw quality to her tone that he hadn't heard before.

He acknowledged with a nod.

It wouldn't change the fact that the boy had hardly been old enough to shave, but he could feel the knot of conflicting emotions in his chest loosen. "Thanks Doc", he said, not specifying whether he was talking about the coffee or her words of consolation.

As a reply, he received a quiet smile and a soft "Sir". Then, Mia was gone, off to tend to her countless other duties.

Dick stayed where he was, replaying her words in his head and trying not to think about how much hardship and horror those deep blue eyes might have seen long before the war had started.

* * *

Returning to their staging point, Theresa wanted nothing more than collapse onto the nearest horizontal surface – who cared if it was comfortable? – and sleep for a week. Until the end of the war, preferably. But she'd settle for an hour or two, as well. Her wish, of course, soon went up in smoke because Liebgott cornered her the second she stepped foot outside the aid station after getting an update on Alley's condition.

"What the hell, Nolan?!", the man yelled, all sharp edges and stormy glares.

She frowned at him, but didn't even get to open her mouth before Liebgott ploughed on, steamrolling over her aborted attempt at asking about his neck. "What the fuck was that, huh?! Benching me like a kid at a fucking Little League game!"

"Don't take that tone with me", she said, dredging up enough energy to infuse a hint of warning into her tired voice.

Eyes still flashing, he demanded an explanation, a justification for her decision.

Incredulous, Theresa pointed out the obvious: "You were bleeding like a stuck pig, Joe." He couldn't tell her that he had missed that because then, she'd call him a liar.

"I'm fine!", he exclaimed with a wild gesture.

"Well I couldn't know that for sure!", she fired back. She shouldn't have to defend herself, god damnit.

Was it so difficult to understand that she was trying to keep her squad alive?

 **.**

Liebgott stubbornly held her gaze, chin raised a fraction in defiance. "I told you", he bit out. "I told you I was fine."

Theresa huffed out a breath and forced herself to calm down. This was going nowhere. "Joe", she said, softening her tone around the reproach it still held. "You're not the only one who feels guilty about what happened to Alley."

He jerked, inhaling to snap at her, offence his instinctive defence mechanism.

She didn't let it deter her and continued: "We were on light and noise discipline. Did you break it with your griping? Yes. Was it your fault Alley got hit by that potato masher? No. If you want to blame somebody, blame me for not enforcing discipline properly."

Because no matter what Lipton or her rational side said, she still felt that it was her fault.

Liebgott's expression shifted, objection rising in his glower, but he didn't interrupt.

"I get that you're upset and angry; Alley's your best friend. But you're injured" – she forestalled his protest with a flat hand – "yes I know, but there's still a gash on your neck, so I wasn't going to take that risk. I'm not gonna lose another man if I can help it."

Her breath caught on the last few words. _I won't cry. I won't cry._

 **.**

The anger had left Liebgott before he knew it, leaving behind regret and the sinking realisation that every time anyone in her squad got hurt, the weight of responsibility on Theresa's shoulders grew. _I'm not gonna lose another man if I can help it._

Catherine had already told him that Theresa was only doing her best to look out for them. He swallowed his pride and asked if the rest of the squad was okay.

Theresa heaved a weary sigh, scrubbed at her dirty face with a marginally less dirty palm. "Yeah. Just cuts and bruises mostly, nothing serious."

"Good", Liebgott said. His signature smirk made an appearance. "Now c'mon, you look like shit, Reese."

She snorted, shooting him a playfully scandalised look as they walked towards the barn. "Who, me? This" – she gestured at her grimy, worn-out appearance – "is nothing a shower, a change of clothes and a few years of sleep won't fix."

He laughed and Theresa was reassured that things between them were back to normal again. She had hated pulling rank on him and she was glad that it hadn't damaged the teasing camaraderie that characterised the dynamics in her squad.


	38. Chapter 38 - Holland

**Hey folks! Wow, can't believe another week is already over. I really wanted to update yesterday, but I was just too tired to do much more than lie around and watch TV. I spent Friday and Saturday working at our local music festival and on Saturday night (or rather, Sunday morning), I only got home at 4:30 am... But it was definitely worth it. I got to see Status Quo for free and arguably from the best spot in the house (as staff members, we could go up to the production/tech gallery high up over the balcony)**

 **Anyways, thank you for reading and reviewing and I hope you enjoy this chapter :) Also, shout-out to Byron W.4 for providing historical details!**

* * *

On 9th October, Lieutenant Speirs from Dog Company took a squad to the river. He rowed across the water to the other banks on his own, using the darkness as his cover. Entering the enemy's territory, he then waited for dawn to start reconnaissance. He scouted the area, noting the positions of the Germans' machine guns and headquarters.

He was spotted and made a run for the river, unintelligible shouting following him, machine gun fire nipping at his heels. Bullets pierced his skin, a burning pain searing through his hip. He stumbled, but pressed on.

The Lower Rhine came in sight and Speirs didn't hesitate to dive in. He fought against the water's pull, came to the surface and sucked in a lungful of crisp autumn air. His wounds screamed, pain shooting down the length of his leg with every kick.

The river was too strong for him to withstand in his wounded state and slowly pushed him downstream as he swum for the south bank. A current dragged him under.

"Spread out", Sergeant Caracea ordered his squad as soon as the Germans stopped firing on the dark head that bobbed in the water before disappearing and resurfacing once more a few feet farther downstream. "Gnazzo, alert the aid station, Sumner, Kapopoulos – keep your eyes on the Krauts."

Esther, trying to track her lieutenant's path towards them, squinted against the morning sun glittering on the river as she ran, Arthur "Jumbo" Di Marzio right behind her.

Speirs went under again. Esther cursed in Yiddish. Speirs was a tough guy, but it was clear that he was losing steam. The river had carried him farther when he popped up, though he was almost back on their side at least. Esther only prayed that he didn't lose consciousness before he got out of the water.

 **.**

Speirs' field of vision had gone grey around the edges by the time he pulled himself up onto dry land, his mind numb with exhaustion. His arms, heavy from the strain of fighting the currents, refused to support him and he collapsed fully.

Grass tickled his cheek. A small patch of gravel pressed uncomfortably against his chin. He couldn't bring himself to move, focusing on breathing through the excruciating pain instead.

"Sir? Lieutenant?" The urgent voice pushed through the haze of pain. A hand touched his shoulder. "Jumbo, d'you have your aid kit?"

A mumbled affirmative, followed by ODs rustling. "How bad is it?"

"The bleeding looks pretty bad", the first voice answered, "but it's hard to tell."

Speirs forced his eyes open and blinked against the blurry greyness. Slowly turning his head, upper torso following along, the soft facial features of Bowman swam into view. Di Marzio knelt beside her and was unfurling two bandages.

"This might hurt", Esther warned perfunctorily before bandaging the bullet wounds with practiced motions.

Speirs clamped down on a grunt of pain, jaw muscles locking and eyelids squeezing shut.

"Done", the New Yorker informed him soon after. "Let's get you to the aid station, sir." She bent down to help him up and added in a hushed undertone: "I'll let Mia know."

He managed a grateful nod.

* * *

The winds of change once more blew through Easy Company. After Major Horton had been killed, Captain Winters had been promoted to battalion staff to serve as Colonel Strayer's XO. The company was sad to lose Winters as their CO. He had been with them from the beginning, was a great strategist and respected all around because he genuinely cared about the men and women under his command.

A number of lieutenants were assigned to the now vacant position, but none of them were a good fit – for varied reasons. They all left again, some sooner than others. With all these interim leaders, the company looked to their XO, Lt Harry Welsh. He was a great guy and with the platoon leaders and NCOs doing what they could, they made it work.

Still, it was a relief when Moose Heyliger, a fellow Toccoa man, took over as their commander. He was miles better than any of the other interim leaders already because they knew and trusted him.

 **.**

Maxine was tallying up a list of things she'd have to requisition at the supply office. Andrews needed a new helmet (his current one bore a frightening resemblance to a sieve after getting showered in frag), Skip could do with a musette bag that wasn't held together by threads and sheer tenacity and Young's rifle was causing more trouble than it was worth, misfiring and malfunctioning about twenty times more than hers, so at the very least, he was getting a new breech block.

She rounded the corner and came to an abrupt stop. _Oh crap._

A small crowd of reporters had gathered in front of the CP, armed with cameras and notepads. Maxine suppressed a sigh, cursed her luck and rearranged her features into a neutral expression before she continued walking towards the beleaguered building.

Soon enough, one of the reporters spotted her and his excitement quickly spilled over onto the rest of the throng. Shouts of "Ma'am", "Sergeant" and "Miss Lloyd" met her and then, they were pelting her with questions and requests for pictures.

"What are your thoughts about the war, Miss Lloyd?"

"What's it like as a woman in the paratroopers?

"This way, Miss Lloyd, just one picture!"

Cameras flashes went off rapid-fire in a blinding frenzy and suddenly, she was surrounded by the reporters that were clamouring for her attention.

"What does your family think about your being a soldier, Maxine?"

"Do you have a sweetheart back home, Miss?"

"Over here, Sergeant, give us a smile!"

 **.**

Maxine pushed through the crowd, then stopped and turned. With her family a part of the upper scales of society, her father a diplomat and her mother a skilled hostess and socialite, she had experience in dealing with the press. Offering the vulturous mob a polite smile, she raised a hand to ask for quiet.

"Thank you", she said once the noise died down. "Before I answer some of your questions, let me clarify that I cannot comment on the ongoing operations and campaigns. I also can't reveal any information pertaining to planned manoeuvres and objectives. You understand, of course."

Another empty smile, nods from the crowd. A camera flashed.

She privately wondered what people at home would think once they saw it in the papers. She was in dirty ODs, fully armed with her rifle over her shoulder, pistol in its holster, bayonet on her belt, jump knife in its sheath on her boot. The only reason her face and hair weren't too dirty was that she'd dunked her head in a bucket of water and scrubbed at her face with a moderately clean cloth after returning to Second's staging point around dawn.

Straightening a little, Maxine then allowed the reporters to ask their questions. A politely professional mien firmly plastered onto her face, she handled them with all the grace, cunning and charm she had learnt from her mother along with the assertiveness that a staff sergeant's rank required.

Secretly, she found the entire thing quite entertaining even though a large portion of the questions were invasive and patronising. She cheerfully went about replying with eloquently worded responses, hiding her distaste behind multiple layers of subtle ambivalence, politeness and disarming honesty. It was fun to answer in such a way that she was able to speak her mind (including rejecting two questions and offer one backhanded compliment that was so ambiguous it completely went over the guy's head) while they were eagerly hanging on her every word and asking her to elaborate instead of becoming outraged at what she was actually saying.

 **.**

"Alright everybody", a new voice piped up after a good ten minutes, "thank you, but Staff Sergeant Lloyd has business to attend to, so she won't be available for more questions."

Maxine turned and gave Nixon a grin before thanking the reporters and making a graceful exit, following the lieutenant into the CP.

The door closed behind them and she was surprised to see Welsh and Winters there, the former peeking through a slit in the curtains. "Sirs", she greeted them. "Sorry for the interruption."

Winters waved it off with a smile.

"That was quite a show out there", Welsh commented, beaming like the Irish leprechaun he sometimes reminded her of.

Nixon agreed, looking entirely too pleased. "You could have called those reporters idiots to their faces and they would have thanked you for it", he said, leaning against the window sill.

Maxine shrugged and self-consciously tucked a non-existent stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I learned from the best. Still, thanks for rescuing me." She surveyed the room and asked: "Any chance there's another exit? I gotta get to the supply office."

Winters pointed her down the hallway.

She thanked them again and headed off, laughing as Welsh hollered after her: "Good luck dodging those reporters!"

* * *

October passed much like September had, with the company bouncing from town to town in Holland. Morale had improved after they had finally gotten off the Island, but they were still in a state of permanent exhaustion. The stress of fighting was offset by periods of utter boredom.

So it wasn't too much of a surprise that the grapevine was abuzz when a colonel of the British 1st Airborne Division swam across the Rhine on the night of 16 October and made his way to HQ in Nijmegen.

In the aftermath of the failed Operation Market Garden and the Battle of Arnhem, almost 8,000 men had been stuck on the north shore of the Lower Rhine. Of those, only about 500 were left hiding in the woods and villages, while a huge portion had been taken prisoner and the rest had been killed.

A plan was devised to evacuate the evaders, Colonel Dobie of the British paratroopers suggesting a location near Renkum to make the crossing. The plan was approved and preparations begun.

The 506 PIR spent several days training with the boats the Royal Canadian Engineers had supplied them with. Patrols were sent to the north of the river and during the nights, tracer fire flew across the river to disguise the fact that it would mark the crossing point when they actually pulled off the operation – codenamed Pegasus.

 **.**

On the night from 22 – 23 October, Easy Company waited for the signal on the south bank of the Rhine, together with Colonel Dobie and the engineers.

A flash of light from the other side of the river.

 **· · · −** _._

 _V for Victory._

"Let's go", Maxine whispered to her squad.

Near-soundlessly, they crossed the river. Moose had them set up a small perimeter and they waited for the evaders to show up since those were hiding a bit further upstream.

 **.**

90 tense minutes later, the dark night pierced by tracer fire, sporadic gunfire from the Germans and some mortar shells that didn't hit anything, 138 people were rescued successfully. Apart from members of the 1st Airborne Division, there was a trooper from the US 82nd A/D among the escapees, along with several air crew, a handful of Dutch civilians and even some Russians that wanted to join the Allies.

To celebrate the mission's success, everyone gathered in the ramshackle barn that served as their mess hall. Nobody had bothered cleaning up for the impromptu party, everyone pretty much used to the feeling of week-old dirt and sweat on their skin. The escapees had had their minor injuries taken care of and with giddy relief still buzzing in their veins, adrenaline vibrating in their nerves, everyone raised their glasses in a toast to Moose and Easy Company.

The Red Devils got along swimmingly with the American "Screaming Eagles" and they happily swapped stories and rumours as they enjoyed a drink or three. Laughter glowed on dust-streaked faces and after all the fighting and waiting, spirits were high and full of cheer for a change.

 **.**

One who didn't share the good mood prevalent in the company was Catherine. She couldn't shake the glum air surrounding her no matter how hard she tried. A letter from home had pushed to the fore all the emotions she usually kept under wraps. The longing, the sadness, the guilt.

Her husband's letter, while filled with words of love and pride, expressed the same longing. _I miss you, my love_ , Roger had written. _I miss you every day. Your laughter, your exasperated eyerolls, the way you hum while making coffee._

Even her children's letters read _I miss you, Mommy_ and _I wish you could have seen it, Mommy_. But they also talked about trips they had gone on with Daddy and Auntie Gillian, about school and their friends, about Gwen's spelling bees and Tommy's last soccer game.

It made Catherine's heart sting and guilt rise. She was missing so much of her kid's lives. She was a horrible mother, leaving her family to join a war nobody forced her to be in. _Curse my stupid pride_ , she thought, entering HQ to drop off a stack of the ever-present paperwork. Casualty reports, requisition forms, the list went on and on.

The letter responsible for her downcast mood hadn't come from her husband or kids, though. It had come from Gillian, her younger sister. She had moved in with them after her fiancé had been killed in the Battle of Midway. Roger was grateful for his sister-in-law's help with raising the two children in Catherine's absence and Gillian was glad to be with family instead of coming home to an empty house day after day.

Gillian had told her the things her husband had omitted in his own letter. In her letter, she talked about Roger reading the newest casualty lists with shaking hands and baited breath.

About Gwen cuddling one of Catherine's soft, cosy pullovers when she was sad because "it feels like mommy's hugs".

About Tommy wanting "mommy's cake" for his birthday and wishing that she would come home soon when he blew out the candles.

About both kids sometimes waking up from nightmares and crying for their mother.

"They need you and you're not there for them", she mumbled, blowing out a sigh as she stepped back out on the street. Tilting her head back to look up to the sky, she scanned it for familiar constellations. The night sky was so different here.

Another heavy breath escaped her and curled up towards the stars in a billow of silver vapour. Running a hand down her tired face, the Hawaiian paused when she noticed a glimmer of light peeking through the curtains of Captain Winters' office. Her lips pursed. Turning on her heel, Catherine headed back inside and up the stairs.

 **.**

A knock on the door broke Dick's wavering focus on the incident report from the battle at the crossroads. "Come in", he called. Footsteps trudged up the stairs, revealing Easy's ranking medic. "Catherine."

"Hello sir", she greeted with a small smile. "I saw the lights still on and thought you could use some company."

Dick beckoned her to sit down and make herself comfortable. "How are you, Catherine?", he asked. It was hard to miss the shadows in the lines of her kind face, the sadness in the dark rings under her eyes.

She sighed, sagging a little under the weight on her shoulders. "Not too great at the moment, if I'm being honest, sir", she confessed, warm gaze flicking up to meet his.

"Anything I can do to help?"

She shook her head with a rueful twist of her lips. "It's the letter my sister sent me. My family...well, they are mostly alright, but they still struggle without me. Roger is terrified of losing me and the kids..." She trailed off, the pain of her guilt nearly stealing her breath.

"I'm sorry", Dick offered, genuine sympathy ringing in his tone. Setting aside the report he had been struggling to write all day, he wondered: "What made you join the program?"

A sardonic scoff made its way up Catherine's throat. By the time it left her chapped lips, it had softened into a melancholic hum.

"Roger is 4-F because he once broke three vertebrae falling off a banister", she said, the ghost of a fond memory flashing on her face. "But he really wanted to help the war effort after Pearl Harbor. So when they announced that they were looking for women volunteers...well, I wanted to be part of it. Not just for myself, but also for Roger. I figured, if he can't do it, then I should."

"A noble sentiment", Dick commented, which prompted a shrug from the usually confident and resolute mother of two.

"I don't know", Catherine admitted. "Sometimes, I think most of it was just my own pride making the decision for me. I mean" – a self-deprecating laugh escaped her – "what kind of woman leaves her husband and children to go to war on another continent?"

Her eyes burned as they flooded with tears and she blinked hard to keep them at bay. "Right now, Gwen and Tommy are still missing their mommy and crying for me when they wake up from a nightmare. But maybe...maybe Gillian is more of a mom to them and soon, when they want their mommy, they won't be calling for me anymore."

She took a deep, wavering breath and shook her head. "Sorry, sir", she said, getting to her feet, "you don't need me bothering you with my family issues."

Dick stopped her with a gentle smile, assuring her that he didn't mind. As the warm-eyed ranking medic sank back into her seat, he offered: "Would you like to talk about it some more?"

Realising that her former CO was serious and that he was likely grateful for the distraction, Catherine nodded. Dick had his aide bring her a cup of coffee and they settled more comfortably into their chairs. Outside, the stars travelled across the night sky, darkness deepening while the pair – both leaders in their own way – relished the friendly conversation flowing between them.


	39. Chapter 39 - The End of October

**Hello everybody and welcome back to another chapter! I hope you like it, so let me know what you think.**

 **Also, if you have any suggestions or ideas as to which of the women is going to die (and how) in Bastogne, feel free to leave me a review or PM. I still haven't decided...**

 **Just so you know, there won't be an update next week as I will be away. And afterwards, updates might get even more irregular than they already are because I'll start my internship.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter :)**

* * *

Frances had her back leant against the stone bannister travelling up the steps in front of a small chapel. The autumn sun, dim through a slight haze of mist in the sky, tingled on her skin. A small blessing in the murky humdrum that was their life right now. October was already drawing to a close and they were in another town with an unpronounceable name that looked just the same as the ones they had been stationed in before.

"Hey Frances, you alright?"

She looked up from the cards she had been frowning at. "Yeah, sure", she replied, scooting sideways so Jessica could sit down. "Just thinking."

"'bout what?" Jessica dug through her pockets and pulled out a chocolate bar, offering half to her friend.

The North Carolinian took it with a smile and shrugged. "About if we're ever gonna be taken off the line again."

"Yeah...I don't know", Jessica said with a snort around a mouthful of delicious sweetness. "Least we have a good commander again."

Flicking a card up, twirling it around in her fingers, Frances huffed a laugh. "You can say that again", she agreed, taking a bite of her chocolate. "Thank God that Welsh is a competent XO or we'd have been pretty lost."

Jessica nodded. "This whole operation is already enough of a mess, imagine how it would have been without Winters and the other Toccoa officers."

"I'd rather not", Frances retorted drily as she shuffled her deck with one hand.

 **.**

Ana María joined them, flopping down with a groan and tilting her head this way and that to ease the stiffness of her neck and shoulder muscles.

"I don't know how the medics can stay hunched over their patients all day", she confided, wincing as something popped in her back. "My neck is as stiff as mamá's ironing board and all I did was fix the hand-held radio."

Her friends laughed and Jessica asked half-jokingly: "Need a massage?"

"Are you offering?", the Puerto Rican asked back.

She grinned. "Why not. Turn around."

Ana María didn't need to be told twice. She shrugged off her jacket and scooted backwards. Frances watched in amusement as Jessica started massaging Ana María's shoulders, the short Latina closing her eyes.

Putting away her cards because her fingers were still itching for something to do, Frances fished out her sewing kit from the bottom of her bag.

 _We're an odd bunch_ , she mused with a smile, threading the needle and smoothing out the leg of her pants so she could close the holes and small tears in the fabric. Maxine had had enough trouble getting the most urgent supplies for her squad, so Frances figured it was just easier to mend her ODs instead of requisitioning new ones.

 **.**

"Hey, if you're done fixing your clothes, d'you want to do mine, too?", Jessica tossed over her shoulder, smirk tilting her mouth while her fingers worked to dissolve the knots in Ana María's shoulders.

"What, while you're wearing them?", the Puerto Rican chimed in, her giggle abruptly changing into a squeaky yelp when Jess hit a particularly painful spot.

Frances laughed. "You know how to sew."

The blonde turned her head to shoot her a droll look, arching a brow and pointing out: "Well, yes, but you're already at it and I have my hands full."

"What do I get out of it?" Frances wasn't one to miss an opportunity to bargain and haggle. She bent forward to get a better look at the scorched hole a piece of hot debris had left on the elbow of her jacket.

"A chocolate bar", Jessica replied promptly.

"A chocolate bar and a pack of smokes."

"Two chocolate bars."

"Two chocolate bars and I'll drop the pack of smokes if you give me a massage."

Jessica paused only for the fraction of a second before accepting the bargain. "Deal."

They shook hands.

"You're a goddamn shark", the Marylander grumbled, pretending to sulk.

Grinning, Frances chirped an unfazed "I know".

Ana María just laughed at her friends' antics, relaxed under Jessica's hands.

 **.**

Louise joined their odd little congregation a while later, smirking at the sight of Frances happily enjoying Jessica's shoulder massage while Ana María sat next to them, reading a letter.

"Oh hey Louise", Jessica said, the other women also greeting the sniper, Frances doing so without opening her eyes.

"Hey."

Ana María and Jessica traded a confused glance when the sniper sat down only slowly, gingerly leant her head back to rest against the banister and shut her eyes, blowing out a long breath. "Are you okay, Louise?", Ana María asked, taking in her friend's pinched expression, the tension around her closed eyes.

The Brit didn't open her eyes as she replied: "I've got a splitting headache and aspirin hasn't had any effect at all."

"Maybe I can help", Frances offered, shifting a little and turning her head so she could look at Louise. "Is the pain only on one side of the head? More at the front or at the back? Does light bother you?"

Louise's forehead wrinkled into a small frown, but she answered nonetheless, one hand tiredly gesturing to the areas where the pain was most dominant. "It's pretty much all around, like somebody's squeezing my head. Light doesn't bother me, though."

Frances nodded to herself and instructed her to lie down. "Put your head in my lap", she said.

Louise complied and rested her head on Frances' thighs. Nimble fingers touched her temples and began rubbing small circles, applying just enough pressure for it to be comfortable. Two thumbs brushed over her forehead, from the bridge of her nose up and from the centre outward.

Closing her eyes again, Louise allowed Frances' ministrations to lull her into a state of sleepy relaxation.

The pain gradually ebbed, only flaring briefly when the clever fingers dug into two spots at the base of her skull. She sucked in a sharp breath, whole body momentarily stiffening before the pain evaporated.

"Sorry", Frances murmured.

Ana María couldn't help but smile at the daisy chain in front of her. The lines of pain marring Louise's features had smoothed out under Frances' touch and Jessica seemed to find massaging Frances' shoulders almost as relaxing as Frances did receiving the massage.

 **.**

The men who saw the girls' little group on the steps of the chapel were either confused or amused. The Toccoa veterans looked upon the scene with fond acceptance, long accustomed to the special bond the women shared among each other.

One of the newest replacements confessed in a hushed whisper, eyes comically wide almost as if the sight had scared him: "I've never seen Sergeant Fields like that."

Martin shared a grin with Bull and enlightened the kid to the fact that Louise was just as human as the rest of them.

"To be fair, though", Bull spoke up in his measured drawl after the newbie had scampered off, "I ain't seen Louise this relaxed and vulnerable either."

* * *

Tragedy struck again on Halloween, in the town of Driel, when Lt Heyliger was caught in a friendly fire incident. He had been walking the perimeter with Captain Winters, the newly-minted Battalion XO offering some encouraging pointers and helpful words of wisdom about leading Easy Company as they leisurely ambled along the railroad tracks.

A guard had stopped them, crying "Halt! Who is it?" from the shadows instead of using the correct prompt.

Thrown by the lack of formality, the lieutenant had called back: "It's Moose!" Only to be cut off by gunfire, bullets taking his breath as they slammed into his body, felling him like a young tree.

Winters, horrified but reflexes intact, had caught the man and lowered him to the ground, senseless soothing platitudes falling from his lips.

The guard, a pale youth – _boy, just a kid_ – had come running and frozen in shock when he had realised what he'd done. "I'm so sorry", he had babbled, staring at Moose's bleeding form.

"Send for Lieutenant Welsh", Winters had ordered before turning back to Moose. "Hang in there, Moose, stay with me." When the boy had made no move to obey, he had snapped his head back up and bellowed: "Send for Lieutenant Welsh, now!"

The kid had scrambled off, panic fuelling his speed.

 **.**

Catherine didn't know about that, but she had enough details about what had transpired afterwards to be rightfully incensed. Leaving Mia in charge of the aid station while Gene took some time to calm down after his temper had flashed over, she headed to HQ and marched up the stairs to Winters' office.

She was completely unsurprised to find Winters in the company of Nixon and Welsh, the former looking torn between gleeful amusement and worry while the latter had an equally guilty and miserable air around him as Winters, only more pronounced.

"Catherine", Nixon greeted her, motioning for her to enter with a cup in his hand. She was near-certain that it didn't contain water or coffee.

"Sirs."

Looking at the three officers with what her friends had named the 'disapproving mother' stare, the ranking medic asked: "Would anyone like to tell me just what in God's name happened tonight?"

Welsh's shoulders hunched. Winters looked grim.

"I've just had one very pissed off Cajun rant at me in English, French and something in between about officers being stupid and forgetting their training after telling me that Lt Heyliger was shot. So I'd really appreciate an explanation."

Folding her arms, Catherine waited.

 **.**

"It was a stupid mistake", Welsh mumbled into his cup, which the Hawaiian was sure wasn't filled with water or coffee either. "He was in so much pain, Doc."

She turned to Winters in the hope of maybe getting a more cohesive reply.

The redhead sighed. Shoulders curved and expression grave, he elaborated: "We forgot how much morphine we gave Moose."

"We didn't stick the syrettes to his jacket", Welsh added, his voice unusually meek for the normally energetic man. "So we didn't know if it was two or three we gave him."

Catherine blinked, jaw going slack at the revelation. _Two or three?_

"Two or three?!", she stuttered, gaping at the men who shrunk under the baffled and outraged brown gaze. "Good Lord, no wonder Gene is seething." She took a calming breath and reined in her own temper, raking her fingers through her hair.

"What happened?", she questioned, eyes moving from one officer to the next as she worked through her shock, more interested in getting to the bottom of this than lecturing them. They knew that they'd messed up, scolding them any further wouldn't do much.

Winters summarised the events, Nixon adding his two cents' worth.

 **.**

As she listened, Catherine gradually felt her patience, will to live and ability to cope with dumb accidents and other bullshit leave her. They slowly drained from her, sinking past her stomach and into the ground, probably never to be seen again.

"Un-be-lieveable", she mumbled when Winters had finished, shaking her head and turning her eyes to the ceiling in a silent prayer for strength. "Jesus Christ."

"We're sorry, Catherine", her former CO said, voice filled with absolute sincerity and pure remorse.

Welsh nodded. "We're sorry, Mom."

She quirked her lips into a sympathetic smile. "I know", she said, gaze soft but stern. "It won't happen again."

They shook their heads. It wouldn't- it couldn't happen again. Because next time, the patient might not be so lucky. Next time, the overdose might be fatal.

"How's Moose though?", Nixon piped up. "Any word?"

Catherine shrugged, genuinely wishing she knew more than she did. "As far as Gene could tell me, the doctor said he had a fair chance."

Thanking her, Winters dismissed the ranking medic. She nodded and smiled. "Good night, sirs", she wished them even though she was sure none of them would be getting much sleep tonight. She pulled the door closed, leaving an uncharacteristically sombre and silent trio of officers behind her.

* * *

Less than a week after Lt Heyliger's misfortune, Maxine was called to battalion headquarters just after she had returned from patrol. She followed a baby-faced private into Winters' office.

"Hey Max", Welsh greeted with a grin. "Run into any more reporters?"

She smiled and denied, saying hello to Nixon and Winters as well. "But rumour has it that some war correspondent is going to come follow us around a few days from now", she commented with a not particularly enthusiastic shrug. "Either it's gonna be a piece of glorified gushing or muckraking at its best. Anyways, Lip said you wanted to see me, sir?" The last part was directed at her former CO.

He nodded and gestured to the chair, asking her to sit.

She did, wondering what this was about.

 **.**

"As you know, the decision to include women in the Army has sparked a lot of debate back home", Winters began, regarding her calmly. "You are both heroes and rebels to them and the women have been more vocal than ever in their demands for equality."

A frown began to pull at Maxine's eyebrows, but she nodded, indicating that she had heard about this, too.

The captain's mouth twitched with a flash of something she couldn't identify and he sighed, taking two sheets of paper from one of the piles and setting them down in front of him. "You are from an influential and well-situated family", he continued, an apologetic tone in his voice when her expression closed, "therefore, the powers that be have decided to promote you."

 _What?_ Maxine couldn't believe what she had just heard. She stared at Winters, hoping that this was somehow just a bad joke despite the distinctly heavy feeling in her chest suggesting the contrary. "They want to promote me?", she questioned.

"Battle-field commission", Welsh specified from where he was standing by the window with Nixon, who finished: "They're making you a 2nd lieutenant."

Her jaw dropped. Her stomach followed a second later when her mind caught up.

"Because of my family's influence", she stated flatly, cheeks heating up as hurt anger rose inside her. A battle-field commission was something that should be earned, not assigned for political reasoning. "Thank you, but I'd rather earn my promotions on my own merit."

Winters looked almost sad, a twist of genuine sympathy in his brow. A brief glance and Nixon and Welsh were quietly leaving the office.

 **.**

When the door had closed behind Welsh, Winters took a breath. "I appreciate your integrity, Maxine", he said, "and I can understand that you don't want to be used as a pawn in political manoeuvring." He leant forward, placing his hands flat on the desktop. "But you have earned this."

Maxine's doubt must have shown on her face because Winters got up and rounded the desk, leaning against its edge. "You were made staff sergeant because of your outstanding leadership qualities and diplomatic skills."

She looked away. Her cheeks were still burning, her gut churning with disappointment at being used merely as a means to an end.

"The men listened to you long before there were any ranks", Winters carried on, stating what he saw as facts. "Since then, you have proven yourself over and over, during training and in the field. You are an exemplary NCO, so as far as I'm concerned, Max" – her head snapped up at the use of her company nickname – "you deserve it. You're a good leader."

Slowly, a half-smile made its way onto Maxine's face and she nodded. "Thank you, sir." She sighed and asked: "Am I going to be transferred out of Easy?"

"No", Winters replied, effectively reading her mind. "You won't even lose your platoon." It was a long-running joke among the company that Second Platoon had not one, but two platoon sergeants since Maxine and Guarnere were so close.

The smile widened, relief glowing inside it as the Washingtonian's mood rose. Winters returned the smile and shook her hand. "You've earned this, Maxine", he told her again.

"Thanks, sir. Really."

"You'll get your official papers in a week or two", he said as Maxine got up and prepared to leave.

She nodded and with his dismissal, left the office.

 _Oh God. I'm gonna be a lieutenant! What are my guys going to say to that?_


	40. Chapter 40 - An Outsider's Perspective

**Hey folks! Sorry for the wait** ** _._** **I started my intership yesterday and after getting bombarded with info for 8 hours, I was just wiped out. The chapter is rather short, but I hope you still like it. I managed to write ahead a little, so I'm pleased to announce that there will be an update next Saturday or Sunday :)  
**

 **Again, sorry that the chapter is so short. I'd still love to hear your thoughts on it, so feel free to leave a review or shoot me a PM. Also, if you haven't sent in your suggestions as to who is going to die/get hurt in Bastogne and how, don't be shy :)**

* * *

 **The Ladies of the 506 PIR**

Felix T. Arbogast

 ** _"The United States Army is looking for female volunteers willing to join a special, unprecedented program!"_**

Who could forget the phrase that sparked debate in every household, workplace, bar and salon? Surely, this had to be an elaborate hoax because who in their right mind would allow women in the Army?

In May 1942, 35 women completed a four-week training and evaluation period designed to prepare them for Army basic training. It was on the same day that they – and our whole nation – discovered, which branch they would serve in. The Airborne Infantry. These strong, brave women that left the safety of their homes and families would become paratroopers.

Since that day, countless news stories have been published about the lady soldiers and sadly, only a very small minority of the articles expressed a positive attitude. The general consensus was that the women would not last long in such an unforgiving and physically demanding environment. Several women left basic training for a variety of reasons, including not meeting the Army's physical standards or discovering a different vocation. Speculations filled the headlines, going as far as calling the women's reputation into question with slanderous insinuations in order to explain why these tenacious and resilient pioneers persevered.

Two years passed and on the eve of D-Day, 24 women prepared for the night time jump into occupied Normandy. 24 women spread across the three companies of 2Battalion, 506 Parachute Infantry Regiment, in the 101 Airborne Division. Only 11 returned to England a little over a month later.

In Dog Company, one woman remained out of the three that had boarded the C-47 planes before D-Day. Technician 5th Grade Esther Bowman (25, Rochester NY) serves as one of the company's translators. Easily recognisable by her dark curls that she habitually wears in a practical bun, her friends characterise her as dependable, pragmatic and easy-going. "She gets things done and is always ready to help", clarifies Pvt. Kapopoulos.

Easy Company lost three of its women on D-Day, but still boasts the highest female percentage in the battalion. The highest ranking among them as a Staff Sergeant is Maxine Lloyd (22, Washington D.C.), the middle child of esteemed diplomat Mr Ignatius Lloyd. A capable and highly respected squad leader, she combines grace and elegance with firm efficiency and fierce protectiveness. "She always looks out for her guys", says her platoon sergeant and close friend, . Guarnere. "A good friend and even better leader."

Lloyd is not the only female squad leader in this company. Sergeant Theresa Nolan (20, Scottsbluff, NE) proves that youth doesn't have to be synonymous with naivety. If the situation requires it, she doesn't hesitate to give out orders and nobody would think of questioning her authority. Described as analytical and astute, Sgt. Nolan shows that beneath the surface of a sweet young woman can lie tactical skills and iron determination.

A member of Sgt. Nolan's squad, Private First Class Jessica Helak (21, Elkton, MD) has a reputation as ferocious and scrappy fighter. According to several members of Easy Co., PFC Helak excelled at unarmed combat in basic training. By her own admission, she hates the Nazis with a passion stemming from her Polish roots. In a firefight, though, she can often be observed offering brazen and sarcastic comments, lifting her fellow soldiers' morale.

Fondly nicknamed "Mom", Technician 4th Grade Catherine Wilson (26, Honolulu, HI) is the ranking medic and proverbial mother figure of the company. "You don't want to disappoint her", explains Sgt. Malarkey. "She listens and cares for everybody, but when you messed up and did or said something stupid, she'll let you know." T-4 Wilson certainly has enough practice looking after others and keeping them in line as she has two children back home.

Corporal Frances Shea (21, Asheville, NC) is a member of . Lloyd's squad. Mischief is written in the lines of her face and her demeanour mirrors her personality: Easy-going, friendly and naturally cheerful. As her comrades readily attest, Cpl. Shea has a knack for magic tricks and always carries a pack of cards with her. But she is also immensely resourceful even in the heat of battle, having jury-rigged a smoke bomb out of nothing but some sugar and soap shavings on D-Day to create a diversion.

Easy to identify but difficult to spot in a crowd is Easy Company's female radio operator, Technician 5th Grade Ana María Hernandez (23, Fort Pierce, FL). Despite her diminutive stature, the Puerto Rican-born woman routinely carries a heavy radio device on her back. She also makes maintenance and smaller repair works on the same device. "If the thing is acting up, chances are Ana can fix it", says fellow radio operator T-4 Luz.

Sergeant Louise Fields (22, Green Bay, WI), as the company's sniper, is single-handedly responsible for putting down dozens of Nazis. Her focus as sharp as her features, she is infamous for her fiery temperament and extensive vocabulary. "Louise is not somebody you want to cross", comments Sgt. Randleman. "She will take you apart." Deadly with a rifle and equally accurate with her words, Sgt. Fields was awarded a Purple Heart after being injured by tank shrapnel in Normandy.

Unusual, but long since accepted by the battalion's members, is Sgt. Fields' friendship with the second of Easy Co.'s female medics. Technician 5th Grade Mia Arricante (20, Barton, VT) contrasts the temperamental sniper with her unobtrusive, mysterious nature. Quiet and soft-spoken, she is assertive nonetheless. Beneath the ephemeral smiles, T-5 Arricante harbours an abundance of courage and resilience. To give an example: She survived on her own (and unarmed, no less) for three days after D-Day before reconnecting with members of her unit.

In Fox Company, the list of women is nearly as short as in Dog Co. Corporal Cassandra Jessup (21, Box Elder, SD) defied the odds and returned to the field after a piece of shrapnel left her with a deep wound to the head. Cpl. Jessup is an assistant machine gunner, determined to a fault and, if the friendly teasing of her friends is to be believed, a highly efficient scrounger. "She could sell you your own boots and you'd thank her", jokes Pvt. Haney.

Cpl. Jessup's closest friend and main gunner is New Zealand-born Sergeant Audrey Maynard (22, Santa Maria, CA). Her comrades can always trust her to have their backs and her sunny disposition is instrumental in cheering up her peers when morale suffers under the strains of war. Though her often cheerful attitude and slight build might not suggest it, Sgt. Maynard clearly has the strength required for her position, handling the heavy machine gun as if it weighed nothing more than a bouquet of flowers.

But regardless of their rank, position, age or background, these women deserve just as much respect and praise as the rest of our troops. Like their fellow paratroopers, the ladies of the 506 PIR are brave enough to jump out of flying airplanes and land behind enemy lines. They have faced and overcome countless obstacles, during training and in the field. And yet, despite everyone doubting and trying to discourage them, they prevailed.

Sergeant Grant from Easy Co. put it best. "These women are heroes, end of story. They made it this far on their own merit, fair and square. They don't deserve any of the slander the papers have put them through."


	41. Chapter 41 - Mourmelon-le-Grand

**Hello everyone! As promised, I'm back with another chapter. It's more of a filler than anything else, though... I hope you're not too disappointed.**

 **Still, as always, thank you for reading and reviewing! You guys are fantastic and your comments are awesome to read.**

 **Also, if the formatting looks kinda choppy and weird, I apologise. My first week as an intern has just left me so tired that I feel like I can't even think straight... :)**

* * *

Three more weeks passed before Easy Company finally was taken off the line and moved to Mourmelon-le-Grand. Their limbs heavy with bone-deep exhaustion, nobody said anything when one of their comrades fell asleep on their shoulder. Sleep had become such a rare and precious commodity that they treasured every minute of it.

The trucks pulled to a stop at the staging area and weary soldiers staggered, stumbled and tumbled off the backs of the vehicles, rubbing eyes burning with fatigue and stretching out cramped and knotted muscles.

As equipment was unloaded, the medics – despite being so tired that they could barely stand – rounded up all the injured that hadn't required or had adamantly refused a trip to the aid station, looking them over to determine if the journey had aggravated any wounds or worsened symptoms.

 **.**

Chuck helped Ana María off the truck and looped his arm around her. "I could carry you if that's easier for you", he offered.

She shook her head, flashing him a grateful smile. "No, it's alright, I can make it."

She held onto his shoulder for support and they made their way over to Catherine, Chuck adjusting his strides to match the slow, hobbling pace Ana María set.

She had badly sprained her ankle the day before when her foxhole buddy had slipped and fallen on rain-slick grass, landing right on her lower leg. He had gone to investigate the cry of pain and had been met with the sight of the diminutive Puerto Rican clutching her ankle and cursing a blue streak in Spanish while the hapless replacement stared at her with a befuddled and apologetic look on his face.

Frances had to rely on the help of four people to get down from the truck. Concussed and with a busted eardrum to boot thanks to nearly being blown up by an artillery shell last night, her sense of balance was shot to hell. Jessica and Popeye steadied her and transferred her to Smokey and Skinny who lowered her down.

Between the two guys holding her upright, Frances managed to totter towards the medics where Spina took over Skinny's position.

"Let's get you to the infirmary", the Philly man said. "You need to get your head checked out."

Frances pulled a face, but agreed without any token protests. Even if it was only some aspirin or something against the nausea roiling in her stomach, she'd take what she could get in order to alleviate her misery at least a little bit.

 **.**

Soon enough, the last pieces of equipment had been hauled off the trucks. Maxine, who - as Guarnere's 2IC - had been their platoon sergeant since Bill had been wounded by a sniper and sent to the hospital with a bullet in the back of his leg, dismissed her guys with basic instructions along the lines of "there's your billets, grab a shower if you feel like it, good night".

Even though they were all eager to collapse onto a bunk and catch up on all the missed sleep of the last two months, many couldn't resist the temptation of a nice (and maybe even just lukewarm) shower. Theresa actually welled up at the heavenly feeling of hot water cascading down on her, washing away all the layers of grime coating her skin and hair.

Still basking in the sensation of cleanness the shower had left them with, Easy Company collapsed into their bunks. Many were asleep before their head – hair still damp – hit the cloud-soft pillow.

Though it wasn't easy to shake the constant state of alert. The smallest noise yanked them back to wakefulness and by the time their surroundings fully registered, many had already reached for a rifle that wasn't there.

* * *

A few days later, when the latest wave of replacements arrived, the dark smudges under the soldiers' eyes, which almost looked like bruises in the sunlight, were still there. Fading, but there.

Without the constant trepidation of wondering whether they'd see the next dawn, smiles and laughter became brighter and more frequent again. They were keenly aware of the holes in the company, the empty spots left by those wounded or killed, but they did their best not to think about them too much.

The replacements didn't know about those gaps.

And even if they knew about the hardships the company had endured, they couldn't fully understand. They weren't Toccoa men and they hadn't proven themselves in combat like the first group of replacements had. They were green, either unsure and jumpy or cocky and swaggering.

Many of the veterans were disgusted by the new kids. By their enthusiasm and eagerness for battle, their self-assured overconfidence, their cluelessness. The way they hopped off their transport bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

 **.**

Perched on the hood of a jeep, Louise and Jessica watched them bustle around and try not to let their insecurity show.

"He won't last a week", Jessica predicted, pointing out one of the newbies with a lazy flick of her wrist.

Louise hummed in agreement. "That one looks two seconds away from filling his pants", she commented, cigarette smoke curling around the words.

"Yeah. Or from bursting into tears."

Jessica's mouth twisted in distaste at a corporal looking Theresa up and down when she passed them, absorbed in conversation with Lipton.

"Oh", the blonde made, eyebrow arching. "That guy thinks he's the big cheese." She shook her head. "You should have seen that look he gave Reese. I almost hope he gets put on our squad so we can knock him down a few pegs."

The sniper smirked and proceeded to roll her eyes at the ridiculous posturing those new boys engaged in, thinking that it would impress the veterans. "I'll bet you this month's pay that at least half of that group is going to get fresh with one of us girls."

"No doubt", Jessica scoffed. "They'll be in for one hell of an attitude adjustment." Gleeful anticipation spread on her face at the mental image of the brash loud-mouths getting cut to size.

 **.**

Inside one of the many canvas tents that housed the battle-weary soldiers, Frances was trying to get some rest. But she was too focused on blocking out her persistent headache to really relax and drift off.

Hearing somebody whisper her name, she cracked open an eyelid and squinted past the arm she had thrown over her face to block the light. "Huh?"

Ana María was looking down on her, sympathy in the twist of her brow. "How are you feeling?", she asked, sitting down at the edge of the bunk and shifting so her body cast a shadow onto Frances' face.

"Uhm... my head's still pounding and the world is still a bit wobbly and everything sounds like it's under water", the North Carolinian replied, letting her arm drop to her side. "But it's much better already. How's your ankle?"

The Puerto Rican shrugged. "Sore."

"Maybe you should stay off it for a few days", Frances suggested with a grin.

Ana María laughed. "Yeah right, that's likely."

They shared a laugh. While some R&R was very much needed and appreciated, none of them were good at sitting around and idly twiddling their thumbs. And with the newest wave of replacements arriving – the first trucks had come in an hour ago and more were still to come – training would start again quickly.

Frances shimmied to the side so her friend could get comfortable. The movement caused the room to spin and tilt, making her glad for her iron stomach once more.

 **.**

The tent door opened. Even though the sounds were muffled to her ears, she could easily identify the people entering by their footsteps and voices. Toye and Mia, the latter quietly assuring the former that "it's fine, Joe, really. It doesn't matter."

From his growling mutters, Frances gathered that Toye didn't agree. Curiosity gaining the upper hand on caution, she sat up and asked: "What doesn't matter?"

"It's not important", Mia dismissed, handing Frances some aspirin before turning to Ana María to check her ankle.

Toye grunted something indistinct, but instead of objecting, he asked the North Carolinian: "How's your head?"

"Still where it's supposed to be", came the wisecrack answer.

Ana María winced as the medic's fingers probed the bruise that was splayed black and blue across her skin. Thankfully, it didn't hurt when Mia gently rotated the sprained joint. "It's healing", was the verdict. "Try to stay off it as much as you can."

She raised an eyebrow at her friend.

The younger woman smiled and amended: "You're right. I'll wrap it for you in the morning so it doesn't hurt as much if you put weight on it."

"Sounds great", Ana María agreed easily. "Thanks Mia."

"No problem. Oh and Frances, if your headache and dizziness isn't better by morning, you'll have to go to the infirmary."

Frances groaned dramatically, but promised.

Satisfied, Mia took her leave, quietly slipping out.

 **.**

As soon as the door clicked shut, Toye found himself pinned by two curious stares.

"What were you guys talking about?", Frances wanted to know. "What isn't important?"

He scowled and relayed what happened. One of the newest replacements had made some comments to her, trying to prove how much of a man he was. "Told her she should grow out her hair 'cause she might be mistaken for a real soldier otherwise", Joe said, his expression showing just how much he wanted to wring the idiot's neck.

Ana María gasped and an avalanche of Spanish swears spilled forth, pitch skipping right past shock and second-hand offence, jumping right to scandalised outrage at her friend's behalf. She hadn't forgotten the one time she, Mia and Jessica had been forced to run Currahee as punishment for some cooked-up offenses. And she clearly remembered that Mia's infraction had been 'being too flat-chested'.

Frances' eyes narrowed and she demanded: "You got his name? Or a look at this face? I'll cave that asshole's teeth in."

Joe grinned darkly. "I'll point him out to you", he promised.

While the other two contemplated violence, Ana María was more concerned with the effect the callous comment had had on the quiet medic. "And to think that Mia doesn't think it matters", she said mournfully, drawing her friends' gazes to her.

Toye nodded, mouth in a grim line. "Yeah."

The door opened again and Frances shied back into Ana María's shadow again, quickly raising a hand to shield her eyes. Malarkey, Luz and Muck strolled in, good cheer surrounding them like the sunlight that caught in their hair.

"Hey fellas", Luz greeted them with a wide smile. "Whoa, nice shiner, Frances!"

The woman snorted and grinned back, pushing herself upright once more after the door had closed.

Without missing a beat, Luz asked: "Guess what I heard?", flopping onto his bunk.

Conversation shifted to whatever piece of gossip Luz had managed to snatch up, anger at an as of yet name- and faceless replacement fading into the distant background. Frances pulled out her ever-present pack of cards and they decided on a simple game of Crazy Eights since that didn't require too much mental effort.

* * *

Word spread among the veterans that a certain Corporal Smith – it had been child's play to figure out the guy's name – had insulted their youngest medic. As he had been assigned to Theresa's squad, the Nebraskan was quick to deal with issue the first chance she got.

And because they knew that the replacement was getting his comeuppance, the rest of the veterans happily sat back and watched.

 **.**

After giving her new kids the what for and why is, Theresa ended her speech by regarding them seriously and giving them a few pointers that might just help them survive a little longer.

"Listen to your NCOs", was her first advice. "We're all Toccoa veterans, we know our shit. We know each other and we are doing our best to keep you alive."

"Secondly, watch and learn. The guidebooks and regulations only get you so far. We've learned the hard way what's practical and what's useless. That said, if you don't know or understand something? Ask. Now's your best chance because out in the field, there isn't much time for it."

A few more bits of advice followed until she came to her last point.

"Word to the wise", she said, looking at the green boys under her command. "Don't piss off the medics." Smith was the recipient of a meaningful, warning look and an empty smirk. "You might outrank them, but on the battlefield, the Docs are just one rank below God."

With those words, she dismissed them to find a free bunk and get settled.

 **.**

Louise pushed off the wall she'd been leaning against and joined her friend and fellow sergeant. "Nice", she commented with an approving nod. "Subtle, but straight to the point."

Theresa smiled. "I knew you'd like it."

The sniper hummed and explained: "I would have given him a shiner to match Frances'...or something, but that would have upset Mia."

"True", the brunette agreed.


	42. Chapter 42 - Two Officers in Paris

**Hey folks! Sorry for the wait, I haven't been able to get a lot of writing done during the last two weeks. And the next episode - Bastogne - is proving quite difficult to turn into suitable chapters. It focuses on the medics' perspective, which I love, but I'm afraid I'll end up focusing too much on the medics and not enough on the rest of the guys...**

 **Luckily, there are still a few chapters to go before that, so I hope you enjoy this one :)**

* * *

Maxine's promotion was finalised shortly after they arrived in Mourmelon. Winters proudly presented her with the papers – her official discharge as an enlisted and her battle-field commission to 2nd lieutenant, both effective immediately. He congratulated her once more, as did several of the other officers.

Lieutenant Foley, the leader of 2nd platoon, was especially pleased to have her as his assistant platoon leader since he knew as well as everybody else that the men would march straight through Hell with a smile on their face if Maxine asked them to.

Her squad was sad to lose her as their leader, but the revelation that she would stay in their platoon helped balance that feeling. Second cheered when they heard. Foley wasn't a bad platoon leader and a fairly liked guy, but in their eyes, Maxine was just one of a kind.

"About damn time we got another good lieutenant", Johnny proclaimed with a grin, clapping her on the shoulder.

A cheeky smile arching her lips, Frances moseyed up to her friend to ask: "Do we have to call you Ma'am and Lieutenant Lloyd now?"

"I expect you all to bow to me and worship the ground beneath my feet", Maxine deadpanned, causing the crowd to burst into uproarious laughter.

Giggling, she clarified that they only had to use formal address with her if the situation called for it.

"I'm still the same girl you all have seen fall off the ten-foot wall in basic", she said, earning her another round of laughter from the Toccoa veterans, "I just happen to have a bar on my collar now instead of chevrons on my sleeves."

 **...**

Passes were distributed as liberally as others might hand out pamphlets. Word had it that the 101st wouldn't be sent back into the field until March at the earliest. The unique brand of boredom, the one that came from suddenly having too much time on their hands after a prolonged period of time under high stress, spread quickly, encouraging all sorts of hijinks and shenanigans.

Even the higher-ups had taken the rumour of several months of downtime as gospel, heading off to all sorts of places out of the country. General Taylor was stateside, attending some conference or another, leaving McAuliffe in charge of the division. Battalion commander Lt Colonel Strayer had gone to London, attending the wedding of none other than Colonel Dobie.

Captain Winters was hoodwinked into a trip to Paris by his close friends, Captain Nixon and Lieutenant Welsh. The two officers cheerfully presented him with a 48-hour pass and wouldn't hear any of Dick's attempts to refuse.

"Oh", Nixon added, eyes sparkling with amusement, "and our newly minted lieutenant is going with you."

Dick's eyebrows rose towards his hairline. "Does she know about that?", he questioned, even though he had a strong inkling as to what the answer was going to be.

The matching grins grew impossibly wider, confirming his suspicion.

* * *

"Well, look who it is!"

Maxine turned, beaming widely at the sound of the familiar Philly twang that she'd already missed. "Bill!"

Guarnere grinned at her and wrapped her in an enthusiastic hug. "Hiya, Max, how's it going?"

"The sight of you always brightens my day, Bill", she replied with an easy smile.

He nodded and his eyes briefly flickered to her insignia as he asked: "Now, what's this I hear about you being field-commissioned?"

Smiling, because this was classic Wild Bill, never one to beat around the bush and always up to date on the gossip, Maxine told her friend how it had come to pass. "Got the official papers last week", she finished.

 **...**

After congratulating her with another hug and a smacking kiss on the forehead, he dramatically bemoaned the loss of his second in command and "best squad leader in my platoon" before commenting that they couldn't have picked a better person for that promotion.

"You earned that commission, Max", Bill told her emphatically. "Anyone who says otherwise is an idiot and a liar and is gonna have a problem with Ol' Gonorrhoea."

She chuckled. She didn't doubt the validity of his statement for a second and appreciated the sentiment. "Now now, Bill, I don't want you to get into trouble over me, alright?", she cautioned.

He gave her that smirk that told her that he wouldn't make any promises.

Maxine fondly rolled her eyes before asking innocently: "Say, shouldn't you still be in the hospital?"

He waved it off. "Eh, they couldn't keep me forever."

She fixed him with her best approximation of her mother's 'I know you did something wrong' look.

"I was ready to climb the goddamn walls, I'm tellin' ya", he added with the most pitiful and angelic expression.

She laughed. "It's your own fault", she reminded him, only a faint trace of chiding in her humour. "You were the one who decided to ride a bloody motorbike on the front line."

Bill just shrugged nonchalantly and they headed towards the barracks, catching up and trading good-natured teasing and the latest gossip.

 **...**

Maxine was presented with her own 48-hour pass later in the evening. A gleeful glint in his eyes, Nix informed her that a jeep would be taking her and Captain Winters to the train station tomorrow morning.

"Do I get a say in this?", she asked, secretly amused by the intelligence officer's excitement.

He smirked at the rhetoric and shook his head. "Nope, you're going, end of discussion. You need a break."

That she couldn't argue with and so Maxine resigned herself – without any chagrin – to a spontaneous two-day trip to Paris.

* * *

Early the next morning, a train carried Maxine and Winters towards Paris, the scenery flying by. They agreed to explore the City of Lights together, Maxine offering that she knew a few places worth visiting.

"My grandfather and my mother both love Paris", she said, casting her mind back to the many stories Grandpapa would tell her and her siblings of the lively bustle in the streets, of impressive architecture and cosy cafés. "We even travelled there once when we were still kids."

"Really? How old were you?", Winters inquired, both out of curiosity and simple politeness.

"I must have been around five or six, sir." Her older sister Cassandra had started fourth grade a few weeks later, she remembered. "Mother had to hold my hand any time we stepped out into a street so I wouldn't run off and get lost."

He smiled, picturing the smart and confident woman across from him as a little girl, holding the hand of her mother who he imagined sharing Maxine's elegance and fair looks.

She chuckled, shaking her head at the memory. "Grandpapa found it hilarious. Mother not so much."

"I can imagine that", Winters commented, recalling his own mother's exasperation when his sister Anne had been just as fond of 'exploring' as a toddler.

 **...**

Their conversation was interrupted by the conductor passing by to announce the next stop. He tipped his head at them in respect, offering a courteous "Madame. Monsieur. Bon voyage à vous".

"Merci Monsieur", Maxine returned with a polite smile.

"I didn't know you spoke French", Winters said after the conductor had moved on to the next carriage.

The Washingtonian shrugged. "Well, sir, my father considers it a useful and important language."

He found that quite a reasonable attitude and told her as much before reminding her: "We're not on base, so please call me Dick."

"Very well ...Dick. In that case, it's only fitting that you call me Maxine or Max."

Dick agreed. "Has that always been a nickname of yours?", he then asked. From what he knew, Maxine's family would likely have regarded it as 'too plebeian'.

"No", Maxine confirmed with a soft snort and a shake of her head. _Mother and Father would be appalled._ "Guarnere started calling me Max at some point during basic and it stuck." She still remembered her initial confusion at the friendly abbreviation. "But I have grown rather fond of it now. At home, I was always Maxine or, at most, Reny."

"Reny?"

She nodded, revealing: "My middle name is Berenice."

 **...**

As the train pulled into the station and they disembarked, Dick had come to the conclusion that maybe his friends hadn't been wrong to send Maxine along with him. Intelligent, well-educated and witty, the tall brunette was a fantastic conversationalist and just as great at silent company.

He had known all this beforehand, from various accounts of others as well as his own observations, but he hadn't had an opportunity to really experience it.

* * *

They spent the day exploring the city.

After a stroll through the artists' quarter of Montmartre, which Maxine adored for its colours and life-filled cobblestoned streets, the two of them headed down to the Seine, walked along the river and crossed the Pont Neuf.

They sat down for lunch in a tidy little restaurant on the river bank, watching the people passing on the street and the occasional boat floating past on the water.

Maxine insisted that Dick choose their next destination. "I picked Montmartre, now it's your turn", she said as they perused the menu.

The waiter came to ask what they would like to drink. Maxine easily switched to French to order a carafe of water as well as a glass of red wine for herself.

"Would you like a glass as well, Dick?", she asked.

He declined and she nodded, confirming to the waiter, who had been delighted to discover the beautiful young woman in uniform was fluent in the local idiom.

Over lunch, they discussed their plans for the afternoon and eventually, Dick decided that Saint-Germain sounded like an interesting area to visit. Their waiter was only too happy to give them directions and offer some advice on other sights they should consider.

 **...**

The rest of the day flew by in record time and before they knew it, evening was darkening the sky and they were on one of the many trains that criss-crossed the city.

Maxine didn't miss the far-away look creeping into Dick's eyes as the train rattled along the tracks, telling her that his mind was elsewhere. Comfortable with the agreeable silence that had spread between them, she drifted off into her own thoughts.

She had written home to tell her family about her promotion, expressing her joy and pride despite the bitter aftertaste of the political reasoning behind it. Maxine had joined the program mainly because she had wanted to prove herself to be more than just a pretty girl from a privileged, almost filthily rich family.

But she had also seen it as a way to annoy her family.

Constantly being treated like the black sheep, tutted at for every little thing that was considered unladylike or not befitting her standing and reminded at fairly regular intervals that reputation was everything had only furthered Maxine's determination and drive for independence.

She had kept up appearances of course, done her best to meet her family's expectations and acted like the perfect Lloyd daughter, just like her sister. And when she had seen a chance to make a name for herself, to show what she was capable of and prove her worth, Maxine had seized it without hesitation. Her decision had widened the rift between her and her family into a large chasm.

She had never had a close relationship with her father and while she loved her mother as her mother loved her, Maxine also knew that Mother was at times a bit too concerned about appearances, too. _At least Mother still writes to me_ , she thought, a twinge of sadness lancing through her. It had hurt the most when her brother and sister's letters had suddenly stopped coming after the company had returned to the field in September.

Even when their mother hadn't been able to openly oppose their father or when she shared his views of how they should comport themselves, the three of them had always stuck together. It had been them, Cassandra, herself and Nathaniel, against the world, as they had often told one another.

Because of that, their inexplicable silence and lack of support hurt Maxine more than the combination of her father's complete refusal to write to her and her now ex-fiancé's ultimatum which she had rejected.

 _I thought they'd understand. I thought they'd be happy for me. Did they change their minds?_

 **...**

"Max?"

She flinched out of her thoughts, returning to reality with a start. She blinked and tried to orientate herself.

The train had stopped.

Dick was standing, looking down to her with a hint of concern on his face.

Pulling herself together, Maxine aimed for light humour as she stated: "We missed our stop." She missed the mark by a wide margin and landed somewhere closer to confused unease.

"Yeah", Dick confirmed, lips quirking into the ghost of a smile that didn't get anywhere near his eyes.

* * *

They got off the train and stepped out into the cool night. The Seine flowed below them, the city's many lights dancing on the water surface.

"Are you alright, Dick?" The words coiled into the air like one of the smoke rings Jessica was so skilled at blowing.

He didn't look at her, his bright, almost translucent gaze pensive as it watched the ripples in the silver and gold shimmers of the river. "The people go about their daily lives, the war only at the back of their minds."

Maxine let out a sympathetic hum, but quietly pointed out: "They were under Nazi occupation up until a few months ago."

"Yeah. It's still enviable."

She dipped her head in agreement.

 **...**

Silence stretched until Maxine said: "We'll be okay."

Dick turned his head, looked at her with an expression on his face that she couldn't quite place. "Do you really believe that?", he asked, only genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Yes", she replied, finding that she did indeed. "God, Fate, Karma...whatever you like to call it, I think that somehow, eventually, we'll be okay."

He smiled at that and she was glad to see it reach his eyes, softening the lines around his mouth.

 **...**

"Any idea where we are?", Dick suddenly wondered, drawing a snort of laughter from her.

"By the Seine. But that's about it."

They both had to laugh at the absurdity of the situation: Two decorated officers, lost in Paris because they hadn't gotten off the train at the right stop.

"I'm sure we can find our way back to the hotel", Dick said, offering his arm to Maxine.

She giggled and took his arm. "We'd be a disgrace onto the parachute infantry if we didn't", she joked.

They began heading east, the direction they had come from. The heels of Maxine's pumps clicked softly on the pavement. The river gurgled along next to them. On the road, the occasional carriage or automobile clattered and rumbled past.

"We're not gonna tell Nix or Harry that we got lost."

"Absolutely not. We'd never hear the end of it."


	43. Chapter 43 - Nightmares

**Hey everyone. I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting all the time. I haven't been able to get any writing done as I'm still getting used to work. I'll try my best to write on the evenings and weekends, though, but it's pretty slow progress...** **Still, I'll do my best and I hope that I can upload a new chapter every two to three weeks until I get into a bit of a rhythm with work and hobbies and life.**

 **As always, thank you all for reading and reviewing! I love reading your thoughts and ideas about this story, they are so exciting and interesting!** **Keep 'em coming :)**

* * *

It took a while, but after about a week, the men and women of the 506 could finally sleep deeply again. They didn't startle awake after two or three hours, thinking that it was their turn to keep watch now. Not every little creak of a bunk or hoot of an owl jerked them to full alert.

But with deep sleep came dreams.

And with the dreams came the nightmares.

 **.**

Jessica woke abruptly, heart hammering in her chest, nerves buzzing. Swallowing to dislodge the lump in her throat, she blinked several times in rapid succession to get rid of the image still haunting her mind.

A pair of pale, wide eyes staring up into the blue sky. Eyes that looked so lifeless even though the man they belonged to was still breathing.

"Bad dream?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin, whipping her head around towards the source of the whispered question. _Hoobler_ , her muddled brain supplied eventually.

"Yeah", she whispered back, feeling her heartbeat slow down. She blew out a long breath as silently as possible. Her right hand uncurled, losing the vice grip it had on the edge of her bunk.

Bedding rustled as Hoobler shifted. "What was it about?"

Her throat felt tight again. She rolled onto her side and said: "I don't really remember."

"Hmm, hate it when that happens", he hummed sleepily, already burrowing back into the cocoon of his blanket.

Jessica closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Mm-hm."

 _Liar, liar, hair on fire_ , a voice sing-songed in her head.

Elizabeth's voice.

 **.**

Jessica frowned and tightly squeezed her eyes shut as if that would shut out her own mind's taunts. _Can it_ , she sniped at herself...her conscience? Hardly, but definitely a part of herself that somehow mirrored her deceased best friend's knack for finding others' weak spots and calling them out on their bullshit.

 _What was I supposed to do?_ , she challenged when the voice just tittered in response. _Tell the truth? You don't get anywhere in the world with touchy-feely stuff._ ' _If you show too much of your soft underbelly, you'll only get gutted'_ , she quoted a sentence her father had used many times.

"You must be strong", her Papa had impressed on her time and again as she'd grown up. "Be strong for your brothers." Showing weakness, he'd taught her, would only lead to pain and heart-break.

"Tears will not help you, they will not save you from your enemy."

"Don't show your fear. It makes it easier to hurt you."

"Don't grow attached, it will only cause you pain. Friends will not be there forever, only trust your family with your heart."

 **.**

But now, as she lay in her bunk, desperately trying to forget her dream and block out Elizabeth's whispering voice in her head, Jessica wondered if her father had been wrong. _Theresa cries_ , she reasoned with herself, flopping onto her back to stare at the ceiling.

 _Theresa admits when she's scared. Theresa cares so much for her squad in spite of the pain it causes her when the new kids get killed._

Her mind drifted to the other women in the battalion. Frances, who made friends so easily. Maxine, who had been named "Mom No. 2" for a reason. Audrey and Cassandra, who were like two peas in a pod, never scared to show their affection. _Ana. Louise. They have become attached to their friends, too._ Even Mia, the oddly quiet girl with that unreadable expressions that Jessica had always found a bit unsettling, had formed bonds and friendships.

She rolled onto her side again, pushed her head down into the pillow to get comfortable.

Elizabeth died and left a gaping hole, there was no point in denying that. And it was also useless to pretend that it didn't hurt. It hurt and it made her angry at the thrice-cursed Nazis. Those bastards had killed her best friend. They would pay.

Elizabeth had been the sister she'd never had. Jessica had never trusted anybody as deeply, had never let herself be vulnerable as she had done around Elizabeth. And that connection they had shared, the memories she had of their time together as inseparable friends...it had been– it still was worth the pain she felt at the loss.

 _Allowing yourself to grow attached to other people isn't so bad_ , the blonde mused. And crying couldn't be that big a sign of weakness. After all, Theresa had burst into tears in front of her squad. Jessica couldn't imagine calling her squad sergeant weak and she knew for a fact that her fellow squad members didn't either.

Blowing out a soft sigh, she closed her eyes again. She should sleep. Moral dilemmas and soul-searching could wait until morning.

* * *

Johnny was on his way back from the latrine when he saw Theresa sitting on a makeshift bench, doing a crossword puzzle in the dim light of her crookneck flashlight. She turned her head when she heard his footsteps approach, muffled in the grass.

"Can't sleep either?", he asked once he was settled next to her.

Her loose brown hair danced as she shook her head, shoulders curving in to ward off the chill of the night. He moved closer until their arms touched. She was shivering.

He was pretty sure it didn't have to do with the temperature.

 **.**

"I keep seeing them", she admitted softly after a long moment of silence, voice thick from the tears that trickled down her cheeks. Her left knee bounced up and down. "Alley. Boyle. Tipper." Her throat bobbed. A puff of vapour shuddered into the air as she exhaled. "Maitland."

"Yeah", Johnny murmured, raking a hand through his mop of curls.

Theresa's gentle eyes studied him from the side. "You too?"

He nodded. The corners of her mouth curled up in understanding.

He sighed, pointed at the crossword puzzle still lying in her lap. "Want some help?"

 **.**

Twenty minutes later, they headed back inside to give sleeping another shot. The crossword – finished – was tucked into Theresa's jacket.

"Thanks, Johnny."

"You, too, Reese."

* * *

Catherine shot bolt upright, her face wet with tears. Her heart slammed against the walls of her throat. Her stomach was cartwheeling, nausea sloshing around behind her navel.

Sucking in a breath, her brain caught up with her eyes and started processing what they were seeing instead of what her mind was conjuring.

Mia was sitting on the edge of her bunk, watching her carefully. There was a scratch on her cheek that hadn't been there when they had gone to bed. Behind her hovered Lipton, warm concern etched into his kind face.

 **.**

Slowly getting her erratic breathing under control, Catherine came to the horrified realisation that the entire billet was awake and staring at her. Concern was the most prominent emotion on their features, but several people also looked rather spooked.

"You screamed", Mia explained, correctly interpreting her friend's expression.

"Loud enough to raise the dead", came the quip from somewhere at the back. It might have been Skip.

"And scare us all to death", another voice – possibly Penkala – added.

Lip turned to give them a reproachful look.

Catherine wiped her face and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry", she said, "I didn't mean to wake you." Her voice wasn't as steady as she'd hoped it would be. She scrubbed a hand up her forehead. A few strands of her hair clung to it, sticky with sweat.

Everyone was quick to reassure her that it was okay, that she couldn't help it.

"Nothing to apologise for, Mom", Malarkey spoke up, the yawn not dampening his sincerity. "We've all been there."

Smiling fondly, the First Sergeant told them to get back to sleep.

 **.**

Seconds later, the first snores filled the billet again. Sitting down on the edge of his bunk, conveniently the one right next to Catherine's, Lip offered: "That must have been some nightmare."

The Hawaiian nodded shakily, nausea rising in her oesophagus as flashes of the dream zipped through before her inner eye. Mia's hand brushed over her knee, the touch fleeting but comforting nonetheless.

"It was so absurd", she began, speaking quietly so as not to disturb those that had already found their way back into sleep. "And at the same time, it felt so real." An involuntary shudder ran through her.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Catherine smiled despite herself. God bless Carwood Lipton. The man had a heart of gold and compassion in spades. She shook her head. "Thanks, Lip, but...I think I'll just try and go back to sleep." She lay down and shifted to settle in a comfortable position.

"Alright." He tapped the mattress and looked to Mia, then to her. "Sleep well."

"You too, Lip."

"Good night, Lip", Mia whispered with a grateful smile.

The First Sergeant wasn't the only one who was still awake when the reserved young medic finally snuck back to her own bunk after Catherine had fallen asleep. And he wasn't the only one who smiled at her inconspicuous, selfless way of showing affection.

* * *

Nobody mentioned it when one of their friends gasped awake in cold sweat.

Nobody looked twice when a fellow reached over to wake their bunk neighbour that whimpered and moaned from the terrors plaguing them.

Nobody batted an eyelid at pale, shaken troopers comforting one another, huddled together, talking in hushed whispers or sitting in silence.

They looked after each other, helped each other cope with the nightmares and the emotions tied to them. And their already close-knit units grew even tighter, the bonds strengthened by the shared experiences.


	44. Chapter 44 - Returns and Training

**Hey everyone! I hope you're not too cross with me for taking so long to update. I really wish I could upload new chapters each week, but I'm still stuck on a particular scene in episode 6 and I can't get much writing done during the week... I try to update once every two weeks, though :)**

 **As always, your reviews are a constant source of joy to me, so thank you all very much for leaving your thoughts, emotions and ideas for me to read.**

* * *

A few days after Guarnere had returned to Easy by going AWOL from the hospital, some more of the wounded returned. And among them was James "Moe" Alley, who had sustained serious injuries from grenade frag during a night patrol on the Island.

He was greeted with loud cheers, slaps on the back and handshakes from his comrades. Grinning, he showed them the doctor's note that dispensed him from wearing a tie. "Turns out having a couple a' holes punched into your neck's great for getting around uniform regulations", he joked.

"It's also a sure-fire way to give me grey hairs", came the familiar voice of his sergeant from the back of the ring of soldiers around him.

The cluster of people parted like the Red Sea, revealing Theresa standing there, arms crossed. The beaming smile and the teasing arch of her left eyebrow softened the sternness of her body language.

He offered her an apologetic shrug. "Sorry Reese."

She waved it off and stepped closer so she could welcome her friend back. Shaking his hand, she fixed him with a serious look and said: "Just try not to scare me like that again, okay?"

Alley smiled and promised. "I'll do my best, Reese", he vowed.

 **.**

The large room right beside the supply office, was used for all sorts of equipment maintenance and repair. Furnished with several tables, benches and chairs – and even two crooked shelves that nobody trusted to deposit anything heavier than a compass on, it was the perfect place for the men and women to chat while they fixed and cleaned their gear.

Ana María whistled an Andrews Sisters' song as she smacked the casing of one of the radios back into place.

Cassandra, who was fiddling with the wonky tripod of her MG – technically Audrey's, but they were a team, so it was hers, too – and wondering why the universe had made sure that she'd be assigned the most stubborn and faulty but impossibly still functional piece of equipment, hummed along.

Setting the fixed radio down and leaning back with a tired groan, Ana María rubbed at her eyes and stretched languidly. "Do you want some coffee?", she asked Cassandra, the words punctuated by a yawn.

The blonde South Dakotan mumbled an indistinct negative around the screwdriver she was holding between her teeth.

Ana María laughed and got to her feet. "Okay. Be right back."

"Mhm."

 **.**

Stepping out into the crisp afternoon air, the diminutive Puerto Rican made her way across the parade ground and ducked into the mess hall, tune still trilling into the air through her teeth. Picking up the cup of fresh coffee, she relished the warmth seeping into her fingers and palms. She took a sip of the watery beverage, waved in thanks to Joe Domingus and turned to leave.

As she crossed to the door, Ana María casually let her gaze glide through the room, noting a group of Easy soldiers – Toccoa veterans – gathered at one of the tables. Luz, hands gesturing as he was no doubt in the middle of one of his stories, leant forward and Ana María nearly bumped into a bench as she did a double-take.

There, behind Luz, laughing at the energetic radio man's tale, was no-one other than Alley.

A big grin broke out on her face. A warm sensation spread in her chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. He was okay, he'd made it back. Dark eyes flicking to the ceiling, Ana María sent a silent, reverent _Gracias, Dios_ to the Heavens.

 **.**

Cassandra slanted her a curious look when the radio op came back with a spring in her step, a spark in her eyes and a glowing smile on her lips. After a moment though, she recognised the smile as the same one Audrey had sported when they had reunited after D-Day.

"Alley is back", Ana María announced, setting the cup of coffee she had been cradling aside.

Cassandra pried a piece of duct tape off her finger tips. "That's great to hear. Catherine mentioned that he was extremely lucky."

Ana María nodded, testing a handful of colourful wires that poked out of the scratched casing of another radio. "Yes", she hummed, the smile still lingering on her face. "He was."

Smiling to herself, Cassandra refocused on her own tinkering.

* * *

Training resumed soon enough. The veterans recognised the importance of knowing procedures inside out and being able to perform the most complex manoeuvres and the simplest flicks of the wrist in their sleep. And the new replacements desperately needed the training. They sorely lacked the speed, stamina and routine of the Toccoa veterans and even the second or third batch of replacements had the newbies beat in virtually any skill area.

Not that it was entirely their fault. They simply hadn't had the time to hone and consolidate their skills to the same degree since the Army, desperate to refill its depleted ranks, constantly shortened the paratrooper training. No matter how hard the men trained, it was nothing short of delusional to compress a two-year course into a paltry few months and expect the same results. Despite the addition of the newest new kids, however, Easy remained at only 65 % fighting strength.

The company had undergone major reorganisation and as such, it took nearly a week before each man and woman could consistently remember their platoon and squad number again. The only ones that were spared from the confusion were the medics and Louise, who technically was a member of 2nd platoon, but as a sniper often had individual assignments.

 **.**

Babe cursed under his breath as his M1 misfired for the second time since he had gotten into position at the shooting range. "Goddamn piece of shit", he muttered, yanking the slide back to clear the chamber before pulling out the magazine as well.

Unable to see what was causing the problem, he cleaned the chamber and slid the magazine back in. He chambered a round, settled back into his stance and took a breath.

The next time his rifle only emitted a tired _click_ instead of the appropriate _bang!_ , Babe let out another string of swearwords and set about troubleshooting. He racked the slide back and cleared the chambered round.

"Aha!", he made. The cartridge showed only a shallow indentation on the primer. "Great."

Heaving a weary sigh of annoyance, he took out the magazine, got up and stepped away from the shooting stands. "Fuck."

 **.**

"Trouble?", Louise asked when the redhead joined her at the tables they used to disassemble, clean and reassemble their guns. Her hands didn't pause in their motions putting together the freshly greased breech block of a replacement's supposedly broken rifle while she raised her head to look at him.

"Yeah", Babe groused, setting his rifle down with a clunk. "Keeps misfiring." He showed her the cartridge.

The sniper cast a glance at the shallow indentation on the primer and said: "Looks like an issue with the firing pin."

He nodded. "'s what I thought, too." Muttering a few more choice words about the quality of his rifle, he began taking the thing apart.

Chuckling at Babe's unhappy grumbling, Louise finished putting together the rifle she had been repairing and held it out to the replacement that had watched her work with awe in his eyes, standing awkwardly next to the table.

"Here", she said. "Next time, don't skimp on the grease."

He nodded dutifully: "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am" and scampered off to get some more target practice.

 **.**

A despairing groan from next to her had Louise arching an eyebrow. Babe held up two thin, cylindrical pieces of metal.

The Brit grimaced. "That explains why your rifle misfired", she commented.

The firing pin had broken clean in half as soon as Babe had extricated it. "Yeah, no shit", he huffed with a scowl. "How the fuck did this happen?"

Louise shrugged, wiping her hands on a rag. "Made by the lowest bidder", was her response.

Dropping the useless firing pin onto the table, Babe uttered a displeased grunt and said: "Guess I'll go to the armoury and get a new one."

"Don't lose it!", she jokingly called after him, laughing when he disgruntledly flipped her the bird.

 **.**

It had become a running joke among the veterans to say "Don't lose your firing pin". While it was solid advice, the joke had developed after a baby-faced replacement named Eskinson had managed to lose the firing pin to his M1 carbine while cleaning it.

Sergeant Kiehn had looked at the kid with an expression that practically screamed 'So?' and had told him "Well then find it" in the flattest 'well, duh' tone.

* * *

With Captain Winters promoted to Battalion XO and Lieutenant Heyliger still in the hospital, Easy had received a new commanding officer in the form of Lieutenant Norman Dike, sent down from Division HQ. He was a stickler for the rules and his insistence on close-order drills didn't exactly endear him to the company either. Spending hours and hours marching rank and file up and down the parade ground, presenting arms and about-facing to death was one way to disgruntle even the most even-tempered of the men and women.

But they had immediately (after only a day under his so-called leadership) learned not to trust the man, in combat or otherwise. Dike was about as good a leader as he was a soldier. Meaning a bad one.

Or rather, he wasn't a leader at all. Nobody knew just where he went, but more often than not, he was nowhere to be found.

Not when they were in reserve, stationed in some town or another.

Not when they were in the field, digging in for a night.

And especially not when they were fighting.

His frequent disappearing acts earned him the less-than-flattering nickname "Foxhole Norman". And even the greenest of replacements were irked by their CO's ineptitude. Because they already had experience in dealing with unsuited (or downright useless) leaders, the Toccoa guys mostly just shrugged and picked up the slack.

They were just glad to have a good XO, a number of competent platoon leaders and NCOs that they trusted with their lives.

 **.**

Though the Toccoa veterans unanimously agreed that Dike was still better than Sobel. Sobel had yelled at them, belittled them, tried and failed to lead them in the field, invented infractions and dished out punishments at every turn. Compared to that, Dike was relatively tame. Annoying and useless, sure, but not petty, vindictive and unnecessarily cruel.

Maxine, who had spent basically all of her childhood and formative years around diplomats, politicians and other members of high society, was well-versed in recognising who would make good on their word and who was all talk. It had taken her all of 14 minutes in the man's presence to come to the conclusion that Dike fell into the latter category. But not wanting to let herself be prejudiced, she had kept quiet and adopted a wait-and-see stance towards their most recent CO.

Which she had abandoned halfway through the first day in favour of preparing for the worst while hoping for the best. That lasted another few hours before Maxine was absolutely certain that she couldn't expect any leadership from Lt Norman Dike.

All it took was a casual conversation with the other officers to reassure the Washingtonian that she wasn't alone with her opinion.

So when Jessica passionately vented her anger and frustration about Dike's staggering level of incompetence, Maxine knew what to do and say without having to worry about being out of line or putting words into her fellow lieutenants' mouths.

 **.**

"Jess", she began, catching the blonde's attention quite easily. "Take a deep breath and sit down."

Turning to the other members of the company, all showing various levels of agitation and annoyance, she had them do the same. They complied, some more reluctantly than others, but without complaint.

Satisfied that nobody would explode and end up doing something they'd regret, Maxine regarded the motley crew around her. "I'm going to say this once and only once", she said firmly, slowly enunciating each word to make sure they all understood the gravity of her statement. "I don't want to hear of any insubordination or stupid actions that'll get you in hot water with the brass. Am I clear?"

Nods, mumbles of "Yes Ma'am" and "Gotcha, Max".

She allowed herself a small smile. "Good. Because I know how you guys feel and I understand your frustration. I've never been too fond of close-order drills myself."

Knowing grins and snorts from the veterans, chuckles and surprised looks from the new kids.

 **.**

Maxine looked at the men and women she had fought alongside with for more than two years now and asked: "How did we deal with Sobel?"

Confused glances were shot her way. Frances, realising her friend's intention behind the seemingly left-field question, grinned and leant back in her seat.

"Mutiny?", came the puzzled response from Perconte.

Jessica's frown curved into a wicked smirk. "You suggesting a repeat performance, Max?"

"No", the lieutenant replied succinctly, shaking her head. "We dealt with Sobel by sticking together, trusting our NCOs and our officers", she reminded them. "Remember how Winters always did his best to stand up for us? How he interpreted Sobel's vague orders just right to make sure we'd reach our objective? How we could - and still can - trust people like Lipton, Guarnere, Theresa and Louise to suggest the best strategies?"

Shame-faced nods greeted her and Maxine smiled, glad to see understanding filtering into their eyes. "We're paratroopers", she finished her speech. "We deal with whatever gets thrown our way."

Frances couldn't help herself and asked, feigning innocence: "So we're not gonna stage another appendix surgery?"

The veterans burst into laughter at the memory while the replacements looked extremely bewildered and also mildly alarmed.

Giggling, Maxine shook her head. "No, Frances, hate to disappoint you. And we're not gonna get Luz to imitate Major Horton either."

Their resident jokester pretended to be crest-fallen and drawled in an uncanny rendition of the good major's voice: "Well now that's just a cryin' shame, Lady Lloyd."

 **.**

When she left the billets a few minutes later, it was to the lively sounds of the replacements begging the veterans to elaborate on those events Maxine had mentioned.

"Whaddaya mean, you faked taking out that guy's appendix?!", Babe could be heard asking, Philly accent sharp and pronounced in his incredulity.

Maxine laughed quietly and went to find Lipton.


	45. Chapter 45 - Louise's Lament

**Hello everybody, I hope you are all doing well! It's flu and cold season, after all...**

 **I was sick the entire week before last, but since I didn't feel that ill, I still went to work.** ** **Even though I had a cough that I was told was 'bad enough to raise the dead'.** Looking back, I probably should have stayed home on Tuesday because I had a fever that day. But hey, I survived and I got my voice back on Sunday afternoon, so it's all good :)**

 **Okay, I'll stop rambling now. I hope you enjoy the new chapter. The next one will be published on October 20, but probably rather late in the evening as I'll be flying back home from Dublin that day.**

* * *

On December 16, 1944, Louise woke up with a nagging feeling that something was wrong. Looking around, she couldn't see anything amiss. As she got dressed, she mentally checked whether she had forgotten something important. That didn't seem to be the case either.

The strange feeling persisted.

The Brit spent all morning trying to either ignore the unsettling sense of foreboding or figure out where it came from. Since neither approach worked in the slightest, her mood worsened progressively. Irritated, ill at easy and frustrated, she had to grit her teeth to keep herself in check.

It didn't help that her distraction made her performance at the shooting range that day nothing short of lousy. At least for her standard. Her usually tight groupings were scattered at almost double their normal radius. Her accuracy almost shoddy in comparison to her regular precision.

 **.**

Liebgott, who had come over to shoot the breeze, took a look at her shredded paper target and whistled lowly. "Jeez", he commented, "somebody got up on the wrong side of bed this morning."

Louise glared at him and told him to buzz off, adjusting her stance and taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain some semblance of focus.

The first shot was off-centre by maybe half an inch. The next a fraction too high. Three more shots followed, scattered all over the centre of the target.

A string of creative invective burst past Louise's lips.

Liebgott smirked – which only served to infuriate her further – and mused: "Damn, you really have a bad day. Is it that time of the month?"

It was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. The suppressed rage, born from the unease and frustration that had built up over the course of the day, flared and Louise snapped: "Oh piss off, would you?!"

His smirk widened, taking her reaction as confirmation. "It _is_!"

"No, it bloody isn't!", the blonde hissed back, pewter eyes boring into him. "And even if it were, it would be utterly beside the point because everything you can do, I can do bleeding!"

Their verbal sparring eventually descended into a real dispute, snark spiralling towards anger.

 **.**

Ultimately, the argument was broken up by Lipton, who stepped in before either of them said or did anything they might regret. "Alright, you two, that's enough", he said, voice firm but not unkind. "Take a walk."

Louise blew out a harsh breath and shoved a hand through her blonde hair. "Yes sir", she mumbled and walked away.

The sharp scowl faded off Liebgott's features at the sniper's uncharacteristic lack of defiance and her immediate, quiet compliance.

Lip shot him a glance, worry in the undercurrents of his expression.

"What the fuck?", Liebgott muttered, frowning at Louise's retreating form.

The First Sergeant offered him a small smile and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Back to your squad, boy", he instructed. "You can talk to Louise when you've both had a chance to cool off."

"Yeah. Thanks, Lip."

* * *

Liebgott's consternation – because his friend was acting weird, had been the whole day – grew even more over dinner when Louise breezed out of the mess hall approximately two minutes after Vest had handed her a small stack of letters.

"Christ, Joe, will you stop?"

Jolted out of his thoughts by Perconte's exclamation, he looked at the men sitting next to and across from him in puzzlement. "Stop what?"

"Your damn fidgeting is drivin' me nuts. You got ants in your pants or what?"

Liebgott glowered at him, but shook his head. "Any of you know what's up with Louise today?", he wondered, fielding the question to the table as a whole.

Several heads shook 'no', but Johnny mentioned that the Brit had seemed tense, after which Shifty volunteered that she'd had trouble focusing at the shooting range.

"Something must've been bothering her", the soft-spoken sharpshooter shrugged.

Grant turned to ask Theresa a few seats up from him whether she knew anything about the issue.

"No idea. I figured she was having an off day."

Toye spoke up, his gravelly voice carrying across the table as he leant forward: "She told Mia this morning that she had this feeling that something was wrong."

Intent on getting to the bottom of the mystery that was Louise's atypical behaviour today, Liebgott's head swivelled around as he tried to spot their youngest medic's shock of messy hair in the crowd. Finding her sitting with the rest of Easy's medics, he got up.

 **.**

Dropping into the empty seat next to Doc Arricante, Liebgott asked her point blank: "Weisst du, was mit Louise heute los ist?"

She blinked at his sudden appearance, but didn't hesitate for longer than a split second before asking back: "Was meinst du?"

He had a feeling that she knew exactly what he meant, but wasn't willing to discuss her friend's private matters without good reason. A decision he respected. "Sie benimmt sich heute so komisch", he elaborated, detailing all the ways Louise had been acting off today.

 **.**

Spina, having only managed to pick out their sniper's name from the exchange, leaned over to Gene and Catherine. "What are they talking about?", he wanted to know.

They could only shrug, their command of the German language not sufficient to really follow the conversation.

 **.**

Mia nodded as Liebgott talked, confirming his hunch that Louise's unease hadn't escaped the enigmatic girl's notice. "Sie hat heute morgen erwähnt, dass sie das Gefühlt hat, dass etwas nicht stimmt", she said after he had finished, repeating what Toye had mentioned before. "Das wird sie wohl beschäftigen."

Her finger tips tapped against the side of her coffee mug. "Und die Briefe, die haben sie ziemlich mitgenommen."

 _Of course, the letters._ "Hast du eine Ahnung, warum?", he questioned.

She shook her head, blue eyes briefly flickering to him. "Zwei der Briefe sind von ihren Eltern, mehr weiss ich nicht."

Liebgott pursed his lips in thought. Two letters from her parents. Louise had told him once that her parents didn't write often since they were extremely busy with their jobs and travelled a lot.

Seeing her own concern mirrored in Joe's pensive expression, Mia told him where he'd likely find Louise. She would have gone after the blonde herself if she didn't have to be back at the infirmary in 5 minutes.

Liebgott nodded and thanked her, getting to his feet. He had a sniper to find.

* * *

When he found Louise – exactly where Mia had suggested he look – Liebgott froze for a second while he processed the sight in front of him.

He was having trouble reconciling this dejected young woman with the fierce spitfire of a sniper who, among many other things, had called him a "belligerent hamster", the "human embodiment of a cactus" and a "man-shaped harbinger of chaos and doom" in a tone of voice that managed to be both annoyed and amused at the same time.

He had simply never in over two years of knowing her seen Louise, sharp-tongued, smart, self-assured Louise, cry.

She looked up as soon as she registered another presence in the room. "Leave me alone", she said, eyes falling to the letter in her hands again. Her voice was scratchy and lacking most of its usual intensity.

Liebgott shook his head and stepped closer. "What's going on?", he wanted to know. "You've been acting weird all day."

"None of your business."

He watched a tear roll down her cheek and drip onto her OD-clad thigh. It left a small, dark circle. "C'mon", he pressed, inching another step forward, "what is it?"

Louise shifted her gaze to him again, familiar fire stirring in it. "I told you to go away."

"Not until you tell me what's going on." He crossed his arms, held his ground.

Another pair of teardrops fell as she huffed an aggravated breath, brows scrunched, but her eyes were too wide for anger. "Joe, just- I am not in the mood to argue with you", she said.

It sounded almost like a plea in his ears. And God, that waver in her tone, it made him want to punch whoever had upset her. "Then tell me what's going on with you", he urged, sitting himself down next to her. "Is it about the letters from your parents? Did something happen?"

He honestly didn't know what he expected her reaction to be. Bursting into a fresh flood of tears, however, certainly hadn't been one of them. After a moment of shock, he reached out and pulled the sobbing blonde into an embrace, holding her until she had gotten the worst of it out of her system.

 **.**

Louise pulled back eventually, swiping at her eyes as she picked up the letters that had dropped to the ground. "My parents have gotten a divorce", she revealed with a sniffle.

Liebgott hissed in a sympathetic breath. "Aw, shit, I'm sorry."

She shook her head, a sad chuckle escaping her. "Don't be", she said. "Honestly, I don't even know why I'm so upset. After all, they haven't been happily married in quite a while."

He frowned, but stayed quiet, letting her talk.

"You know, they're away on business a lot. Sometimes together, sometimes separately. Dad has had – or still has – at least 4 affairs that I know of" – Liebgott's eyebrows jumped up at this – "and Mum has had her own share of secret lovers that I shouldn't know about." She scoffed, a bitter, disappointed sound. "How they thought I didn't notice is beyond me. 'I'm so sorry to tell you this, darling, but your father has slept with another woman'", she quoted from the letters, "'Your mother is a shameless scarlet woman.'"

He grimaced. "That's terrible."

Louise laughed, though it sounded more like a hysterical sob bubbling up her throat. "And you know what the most ridiculous thing about this whole mess is?", she asked, tears choking her vocal cords. "They are leaving me the house. Me!" She shook her head with another laugh/sob.

"Why on Earth would they leave me the bloody house?" She gesticulated, the letters rustling as her hands cut through the air. "I clearly have no use for it now and what's more, I never even considered that place home. I practically lived my Gramps anyways since they were away so much."

Liebgott reached out to wrap an arm around her.

 **.**

After a short period of silence, punctuated by Louise's sniffles as she tried to pull herself together, he offered: "I'm sorry about your parents. And for riling you up. Mia said you've had a feeling that something's wrong all day."

Her mouth twitched into a dim half-smile as she nodded. "It's alright", she acquiesced. Wiping her eyes, she gave a small, wet laugh. "I don't even know what we were fighting about."

He shrugged. "Me neither. I guess we're both idiots, huh?"

Over-bright grey eyes flickered to him. "I guess."

They sat together in peaceable quiet for a while, Louise resting her head on Liebgott's shoulder. Running a hand over her hair, he absently played with the thick strands.

"What're you doing?", Louise mumbled, sounding drowsy.

"Braiding your hair." His fingers carded through her hair, unravelling the tiny braid he had woven with one hand.

She hummed. "'s nice."

He encouraged her to sit on the floor in front of him. The sniper slid down and settled with her back against his shins. Combing through the tresses that brushed just past her shoulders now, Liebgott separated her hair into three parts before deciding that a French braid would suit her better.

 **.**

Louise was still wearing the braid the next day when news reached Camp Mourmelon of a German offense launched in the Ardennes.


	46. Chapter 46 - Back to Battle

**Hello everybody! I know I said that the next chapter would be up on Sunday, but since I'll get home pretty late in the evening (and most likely be dog tired), I figured you probably won't mind if I update two days early. :)**

 **I have written ahead a little, but I am still slogging through episode 6. If you have an idea or suggestion as to what could / should happen to one or several of the characters, let me know!  
**

 **And as always, thank you all so much for reading and for your kind and interesting reviews. They never fail to cheer me up!**

* * *

The SHAEF reserve camp at Mourmelon-le-Grand near Reims in France was teeming with frantic activity. With elements of the 1st and 6th Panzer Division having broken through the overstretched lines in the Ardennes forest, the two airborne divisions were preparing to move out post-haste.

Transport had, for whatever reason - Jessica theorised that it had been a mix-up or simple incompetence on the part of HQ – not been assigned, so the paratroopers were left to find that themselves. The 82nd Division, owing to the fact that they had been in reserve longer and were thus better re-equipped, moved out in a parade of rumbling engines while the 101st was still in the midst of gathering supplies, locating equipment and organising its troops.

The camp resembled a giant anthill that had been kicked by an equally giant boot. Officers, after being briefed on the situation at their respective HQs, were overseeing preparations. The NCOs, with their platoon leaders' orders, delegated tasks to their men before joining the hunt for supplies.

 _Anything that isn't nailed down is up for grabs_ , was the general consensus. The camp could be resupplied. The paratroopers heading into battle, soon to be surrounded by the enemy, couldn't count on supply lines remaining intact. Therefore, Maxine – with Winters' approval – had summarily authorised the soldiers to raid the supply dumps for everything necessary.

 **.**

Catherine's head spun from the enormous list of things that needed to be done. The 24 hours they had to get ready were ticking away mercilessly and she had yet to find a way to compensate for the distinct lack of medical supplies. Gene had already checked the inventory and taken as much as he could, but it wasn't enough. Spina had gone with the group that was headed to the supply dumps, his delegated task being to collect any and all aid kits and whatever else he deemed useful.

Quietly mourning Mampre's reassignment to HQ company after Market Garden, the ranking medic finished up packing what little they already had. Wiping her hands on her trousers, she straightened, grimacing when her joints popped in protest. _God I'm getting old._ Seeing Captain Winters by an oil drum fire pit with Buck and Peacock, she headed over to them, the flickering flames beckoning her to step closer and take a breather.

The officers greeted her with nods, Buck adding a friendly "Mom", shuffling to the side so she could squeeze in and warm herself a little.

"How is it looking?", Winters inquired, taking in the Hawaiian's pinched expression and overall strained state.

Catherine heaved a sigh, licked her lips. "Supplies are low all around, sir. Food, ammunition, winter clothes, medical supplies..." She shook her head. "We're gonna have to be creative."

"How are your guys?", Buck wanted to know.

She shrugged. "They're okay. Tense and busy like everybody else."

Just then, Mia materialised out of the darkness, her arms laden with a heap of olive drab. In the light of the fire, the dots of scars sprinkled on her chin and cheekbone, remnants of Nuenen, were thrown into sharp relief. "Here", she said, unceremoniously shoving a length of woolly cloth into Catherine's hands, countering her friend's sputters with a pointed look. "You need it."

Her eyes scanned over the three officers. "You need a scarf, too, sir", she determined and Peacock found himself with one in his hands.

As quick as she had appeared, the taciturn brunette vanished again, melting into the drizzle-soaked night like a shadow. "Put the scarf _on_ , Mom", was her parting insistence.

Catherine fondly rolled her eyes and wrapped the warm garment around her neck.

* * *

Despite resorting to stealing from other divisions that weren't mobilised alongside them, the 101st hadn't been able to remedy the dire shortages. Cold weather gear, ammo, food, medical supplies were still painfully lacking when the call to mount up came.

The convoy got under way. The soldiers crowded closely together on the backs of the trucks, huddling to keep warm. The cold and the biting wind stung on their skin, their summer ODs not designed to stave off the December chill. Sleet crept down the backs of their collars, making them shudder as it sapped the body heat right out of them.

To speed up the movement, the headlights were on full glare.

Everybody silently prayed that the Luftwaffe was asleep.

 **.**

Cassandra pulled her cap down as far over her ears as she could, squinting against the headlights of the truck behind them. Faintly, nearly drowned out by the growling engines, she could hear Audrey's teeth chattering.

"Did I ever mention...how much I hate the cold?", the New Zealander wondered, the words leaving her purple-tinged lips in a hurried stumble.

Pescini smirked around his cigarette and replied: "Once or twice."

The usually upbeat machine gunner turned her head to glare at him, though there was a small smile glittering in the corner of her eyes. "Hako", she muttered with a teasing lilt.

He snickered, familiar enough with the Maori language to recognise the word. "Bilby", he retorted.

Audrey stuck her tongue out at him.

* * *

When the trucks came to a stop several hours later, Esther could barely feel her legs anymore. Groaning as the stiff, cramped muscles stretched, she hopped down, boots hitting sludge. Shivering in the gusty wind, she tugged her scarf higher and buried jump-glove-covered hands deep under the pits of her arms. Flecks of frosted precipitation – not quite snow yet, but already past sleet – flurried from the sky and settled on her dark curls which she customarily tied back in a knot.

 _So much for going back into the field in mid-March at the earliest_ , she thought with a mental sigh, wandering past several men of her platoon who relieved themselves right beside the trucks. She had stopped being flustered by the sight of a urinating man long ago.

 _How are we going to hold the line without ammo?_ , she wondered, watching as Gnazzo and Lipinski poured gasoline into shallow pits and lit them with a match. Flames flashed and licked up into the night, casting sharp shadows onto the road. Her breath turned to steam as soon as it met the frigid air. _Or any other supplies?_

 **.**

Footsteps pricked Esther's ears and she lifted her head. The sight made her heart drop towards her boots.

"Got in himmel."

A trail of bedraggled, defeated men shuffled along the road, their expressions either fuzzy with a traumatised numbness or wide-eyed with terror. Many had bloody bandages wrapped around one appendage or another. Her eyes zeroed in on the bandoliers and cartridge belts and she snapped out her state of shock.

All around her, men seemed to have the same idea. "You got ammo?", they asked the walking wounded. "Hey, give me your ammo, c'mon."

Those that were aware enough parted with their remaining munitions without hesitation.

"Take it", one said, tone dull and lacklustre. "You're gonna need it."

Another kept mumbling "There were too many. They came out of nowhere." as he passed off his supplies to a bewildered and concerned Steve Kapopulous.

Handing a few MG bandoliers to Pvt. Ingram with instructions to take them to the machine gunners, Esther continued walking between the overwhelmed and worn soldiers, gathering as many supplies as she could.

 **.**

"Bowman!"

Esther tore her gaze away from the retreating soldiers to see Caracea waving her over to him. Another puff of air curled out of her mouth in a misty swirl before she jogged to catch up to her squad leader.

The sergeant pushed a crate full of ammunition into her arms, a very tame version of his usual exuberant grin on his face. "Here", he said. "Have Jumbo pass these out to the boys" - he produced several en bloc clips from another box - "and take these for yourself."

Spending a moment staring at the clips in blank-faced confusion, the dark-haired translator nodded. "Where did this stuff come from?", she asked, eyebrows drawing together. "I thought we emptied the supply dumps?"

Caracea's grin grew a little wider. "We did. But this lieutenant, uh...Rice, he just showed up with a jeep full of ammo and said, he'd try to make a few more trips."

"Well then", Esther said, "I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth."

* * *

When they moved out on foot, heading down the same road the exhausted and stunned men had come from, Audrey and Cassandra walked behind each other in silence, each taking comfort in the other's presence and the soft sound of their breathing.

There were no snippets of conversations drifting in the air, no traces of jokes fluttering on the wind, no banter exchanged between friends. Only the usual sounds of soldiers marching to battle broke the eerie quiet.

Frost-crusted gravel crunching under rubber-soled jump boots. A metallic clink of equipment here and there. The occasional cough and sniffle.

 **.**

Further up the line of soldiers trekking towards Bastogne, Ana María raised her dark eyes to the night sky, eyelashes fluttering against the snowflakes that started drifting down, and sent a prayer up to the Heavens above.

They didn't have appropriate cold weather gear. They were short on food, ammunition and medical supplies. They weren't even close to full battle-strength and most of their senior leadership, like division commander General Taylor, was absent.

 _Necesitaremos un milagro_.

She crossed herself and kept walking.

* * *

By early morning of 20 December, 2nd Battalion of the 506 had taken up their position in the Bois Jacques. Tasked with holding the perimeter, they were the main line of defence, only a few miles east of Bastogne.

If estimates were correct, the Germans outnumbered them five to one. There would be no artillery or air support, not in this weather.

They were on their own.

Surrounded by the enemy.


	47. Chapter 47 - Fog and Ice

_21 December, 1944_

 _Bois Jacques, Bastogne, Belgium._

 _AKA Hell on Earth_

 _It's official. All roads are cut. The Germans, as well as our side, recognise the US airborne and armoured infantry as surrounded. Bastogne is under siege. 1st battalion pulled out of Foy with heavy casualties. We're spread thin. Too thin to properly hold the perimeter. A German soldier got lost and ended up wandering into Fox's CP this morning. Word has it that "a lot of shit" is coming our way. Tanks included._

 _At least the snow has let up for the first time since yesterday morning. I had hoped that it might get at least a tiny bit warmer. But it only got colder. I have never experienced such freezing temperatures. Mia thinks that it's around -20 degrees Celsius. I don't know how much that is in Fahrenheit, but it doesn't matter. It's just extremely cold._

 _Nobody gets any sleep around here. Firefights break out at the drop of a hat and are over just as quickly. And then, there are the mortar attacks. The Germans seem to take a sadistic pleasure in shelling us, especially during the nights. And in these woods, the trees are just as dangerous as the shells. A falling tree trunk is easier to avoid than a tree that gets blown apart. Those flying pieces of bark and wood are like javelins. We've already lost a good dozen men to mortars and trees alike._

 _On top of that, we've pulled five people off the line for trench foot and a number of guys have developed a cold. I'm not surprised. With our bodies just warm enough to melt the snow, we're not only freezing all the time, but also constantly wet. Wet shoes, wet socks, wet everything._

 _We don't have an aid station any more. Artillery fire destroyed it last night. There were a few survivors, luckily. Mia saw to it that they were all evacuated to the aid station in Bastogne. Thankfully, she wasn't hurt._

 _We're running out of supplies. I doubt that the other battalions are faring much better. Right now, Gene and Mia are out scrounging for bandages and whatever else they can find. Between the four of us, we only have two morphine syrettes left. Gene tried to get to 3rd battalion last night, but he lost his way. No wonder in this fog._

 _If only the weather cleared up. A supply drop would solve at least some of our problems. But wishful thinking won't get us_

A frantic call for a medic pierced the fog, interrupting the soft scratching of a pencil on paper. Catherine dropped her diary into her pack and was out of the foxhole in seconds, slipping on the thin sheet of ice glistening atop the snow. Cold bit into her palm as she caught herself. A spray of snow fell down onto her pack when her feet found purchase.

"Medic!"

Her lungs burned with each breath. Her nose stung from the dry cold air. Catherine didn't let it stop her. She raced through the trees, mind buzzing as it tried to come up with an explanation for the call.

There had been no gunfire. No mortars.

She passed a number of foxholes on her way to answer the cry. They all looked the same, just as the forest always looked the same. There were no points of reference apart from the men inside the foxholes and the knowledge of which way the CP and the enemy were.

 **.**

Her destination was another foxhole. Her trained medic eyes needed barely the fraction of a second to assess the situation. The clump in her chest – sadness, tiredness, helplessness, anger – hardened a little more. The thrum of alarm faded from her nerves. There was no need for urgency.

Robbins, a replacement as green as they come, stared up at her, all wide-eyed and frazzled confusion. "It's Neill! You gotta help him!", he cried, gloved hand gesturing to his buddy. "He won't wake up!"

Catherine blew out a mournful breath and shimmied into the hole. "I can't help him, private", she told him softly. "There's nothing I can do."

He stuttered and sputtered, irrational in his shocked state. "But, but...but..." His wrist flicked with an aborted gesture.

The mother of two shook her head. "It's too late, Robbins", she said as gently as she could. "He's gone."

Robbins shook his head. "No, no, that...that can't be right...he was asleep!"

"I know", she soothed, carefully prying a rifle from stiff hands and setting it aside. She'd have to get a jeep to get him transported to the aid station. There wasn't anything they could do either, but they couldn't leave a body here. "For what it's worth, Robbins, he didn't feel a thing."

 **.**

Johnny, who had come to gather Neill for his turn out on the OP, had to take only one glance, too. He briefly closed his eyes, mumbled a sotto voce "Fuck" and heaved a burdened sigh.

Catherine could empathise. She climbed out of the foxhole and they moved a few steps away from the devastated Robbins, who had progressed to the second stage of grief and was currently berating the dead body in front of him.

"He froze to death." Johnny didn't phrase it as a question, so Catherine didn't treat it like one.

"He probably didn't even notice."

The squad leader scrubbed a weary hand down his face. "Damn it." He tilted his head towards Robbins. "I'll take him to the OP."

Catherine nodded. "Tell Perconte to get me a jeep", she requested. "I'll report it to Lip and Buck."

"Thanks Mom."

She gave his arm a short squeeze because what could she say?

 **.**

Stepping back over to the foxhole, Johnny said: "C'mon, Robbins, let's go. Your turn for watch."

The private grabbed his rifle and followed his squad sergeant without protest. Apparently, he didn't know that it would have been Neill's turn.

Catherine watched them melt into the fog, then turned to the frozen man. "I'm sorry", she whispered before hauling the unyielding body out of the foxhole, preparing him for transport off the line.

* * *

Meanwhile, the rest of Easy's medics converged at the foxhole Spina and Roe shared. Though sharing might be the wrong word seeing that none of the medics ever really spent much time in their foxholes, too busy doing rounds, checking on the men, scrounging for supplies and reminding people to keep moving and their feet dry.

"Hey Mia", Spina greeted the slim woman that appeared out of the greyness, shoulders pulled high, hands hidden in the slightly too long sleeves of her jacket.

She responded with a quiet "Hi guys", crouching down at the lip of the recently dug hole, right knee on the ground, the leg tucked under her. She took off her helmet to ruffle through her hair and brush a few overlong locks out of her face.

"Any news?" Gene eyed his friend critically, taking note of the slight shivers wracking her body, the dark rings under her eyes, the snowflakes and tiny ice crystals that sat in her tousled hair.

"I got a few blankets", Mia replied, not going into detail as to how and where she had got them. "I gave them to those out on the OP. And" – she fished a small container from her pocket – "I found a burn kit. Not much use, but there's sterile gauze inside."

"Morphine?", Gene asked hopefully.

Mia mutely shook her head.

"Damn", he muttered, producing a syrette from his satchel with an agitated, clipped motion. "This is all I got."

Spina didn't have any either. "Catherine has a syrette", he said.

Gene's mouth curved into a frown. "Yeah, so we got two doses of morphine and over a hundred men..." He cut himself off with a jerk of his head and, turning to other pressing matters, questioned: "You got extra scissors?"

"Nu-uh, just the one", Spina answered.

Mia also shook her head, but promised to ask around. "If nobody has one, I'll ask Cassandra in Fox."

 **.**

"First Sergeant Lipton?"

They traded puzzled glances, Spina raising his eyebrows in silent judgement as the anxious voice of their not-so-fearless leader rang out somewhere nearby in the whiteness surrounding them. Dike looked confused and lost as ever as he stumbled out of the fog. His expression rapidly changed to one of disapproval when he spotted the three medics.

"Sir?", came the disembodied voice of their harried First Sergeant from the left.

Dike didn't seem to have heard it, too focused on staring at the two men in and the woman at the edge of the foxhole. "What's this? Three medics in one hole?"

Spina, the most talkative out of them, answered: "No sir, only two, sir."

"What do you mean?", Dike blustered, gesturing irately at their hole. "There's obviously three of you here! What's gonna happen to us if you take a hit?"

Completely unfazed by the CO's outburst, Mia explained: "I share my foxhole with Sergeant Wilson, sir."

The man puffed up in a fascinating imitation of a set of bellows.

Lipton's timing proved impeccable as he showed up, just the right amount of helpful concern on his face. "Sir?", he repeated, sparing the group of medics a brief but friendly smile.

"First Sergeant Lipton", Dike demanded, "where is my foxhole?"

To his credit, Lip's expression and tone didn't betray any of his thoughts as he answered: "It's back there, sir." But he did sound tired, just like everybody else.

"Maybe you missed it, huh?", he suggested, never one to point out another person's flaws, no matter how obvious they were. "I'll walk you back, sir, you're a bit close to the line here."

"God damnit", Dike huffed, stalking off into the fog-shrouded forest.

Lipton had a look of mild exasperation on his face, but he didn't say anything as he dutifully followed their commander to guide him to his foxhole.

 **.**

Blowing out a quiet breath, Mia straightened, knees giving off an impressive pop as she did so. "I'm going to see if first platoon has any morphine. I couldn't find them last night." She donned her helmet and tugged the zipper of her jacket up even though it was already closed as high as it could go.

Spina's head jerked up as he suddenly remembered: "Oh, yeah, that reminds me, Frances was looking for you earlier."

The messy-haired girl nodded in acknowledgement and walked away.

Pulling his eyes off the figure that blended into the mist, Spina turned to his foxhole buddy. "She alright?", he asked, seeing the furrow in Gene's brow as the Cajun stared after their colleague.

He shrugged. "Hard to tell with her", he said, slight frustration in his voice.

* * *

First Platoon didn't have any morphine.

Mia hadn't held onto too much hope anyways. Her mind felt fuzzy, the biting cold, lack of sleep and general strain of their situation somehow translating into a creeping numbness that slowly began to spread inside her. Similar to the ice forming fractal patterns on their helmets, only less pretty and more exhausting.

She found Frances tinkering around with a dented canteen.

"Maybe I can rig this into a small heater", the North Carolinian explained, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she twisted her knife to drill a hole into the metal.

Mia hummed a pensive, half-longing noise. "Don't cut yourself", she cautioned absentmindedly. "Spina said you were looking for me."

"Yeah, Maxine and I got some more blankets and a couple a' coats from battalion HQ." She looked up from her tinkering, a wicked smile curling the corner of her mouth. "They sure got a cushy place there."

The younger woman pretended not to hear (or share) the resentment in her friend's voice and smiled. The set of her thin shoulders eased minutely. "That's great, thank you, Frances."

Frances' smile softened and warmed. "Any time", she replied.

 **.**

Wishing Frances good luck with her craftwork, Mia headed for the OP. Staying as low as she could, she moved through the woods, crawling the rest of the way when the shelter of the trees grew sparse.

"Doc", she was greeted by Christenson's hoarse rasp. He was susceptible to bad colds and often developed a cough along with a sore throat, blocked sinuses and a fever when the temperatures dropped towards the single digits.

Sawosko kept his eyes on the line.

Mia was glad to see them both bundled up in coats and under a thick blanket. While everyone else had the chance to move around a little, keep the blood flowing and warm up, those in the outpost had no such option. They were stuck in that trench, mostly protected from the snow, but only partially shielded from the wind and cold.

"Everything alright?", she asked, leaning on her arms to create at least a small barrier between her chest and the snow.

The machine gunner grunted, which quickly turned into a series of rattling coughs that had Sawosko looking faintly alarmed. "Been quiet", Christenson answered after he'd gotten his lungs under control again. "Krauts have mostly been harassing our left flank."

As if on cue, a spurt of machine gun fire erupted from the enemy line. It was too distant to elicit any reaction from the veteran soldiers.

Mia dug into her jacket and produced a chocolate bar. "Here", she said, handing the precious commodity to Sawosko.

"You're an angel, Doc", Christenson rasped.

She just smiled and whispered: "Stay warm" before shimmying backwards and making her way back to the line.

* * *

When the artillery hit, everyone dived for the nearest foxhole and ducked low, while keeping an eye on the line.

Everyone except the medics, that is.

The ground trembled as the first shells struck and yet the medics were on their feet, running as fountains of frozen dirt and splintered ice sprayed up around them. They checked on the soldiers, one quick glance enough for their trained eyes. And when somebody shouted for a medic, they took off towards the call, even when the trees blew up next to them, left and right.

Catherine fell when half a tree came crashing down less than a foot away from her. Her startled cry, more of a yelp than anything else, was lost in the din of explosions and the whine of incoming mortar shells.

Before she had time to get back up, hands seized her by the shoulder and practically dragged her into a foxhole. She tumbled in, hands instinctively rising to break her fall. A mushy slop of melted snow and charred earth splattered down.

Blinking, the ranking medic orientated herself. Buck Compton was half-bent over her, one hand still holding a fistful of her jacket. "You alright, Mom?", he asked, managing to flash her a smile that was only a husk of his signature wide grin.

"Yeah yeah", she assured him, waving a hand in a roundabout way, "just needed a moment to remember which way was up."

A bark of laughter burst out of him, evidently surprising him a little.

 **.**

Thankfully, only two people had been wounded in the barrage and none of them seriously.

Penkala had been struck in the wrist by shrapnel. Despite his staunch insistence that it had hit the artery, he refused to go to the aid station. The injury turned out to be minor, nothing a couple of stitches, a bandage and time couldn't fix.

Louise had also been hit by fragments of a shell. The blistering hot metal had found its way down her collar, leaving her with a fist-sized burn on the back of her neck. She made her displeasure known in her usual way – with lots of swearing and hissing.

Liebgott, who'd had quite a fright when his foxhole partner suddenly screamed and flung a piece of shrapnel away from her, had immediately hollered for a medic. Now, he was braiding up the sniper's hair at said medic's request while Louise cursed their miserable situation under her breath.

"By the way", the blonde interrupted herself mid-grumble, "I will _not_ go to an aid station."

Liebgott observed as the left corner of Mia's mouth ticked up at the declaration. "I know, Louise", she said, dabbing ointment onto the red patch of skin. "Don't worry."

Louise huffed, but Liebgott could hear the smile inside it. Apparently, Mia could too, because she smiled, eyes briefly shifting over to him.

* * *

Catherine found Gene in his hole. "Mind some company?", she asked around the shivers that made her speech choppy. Landing flat on her behind in the snow had syphoned away what little body warmth she'd still had, leaving her muscles trembling to compensate.

"No, course not."

She slumped down beside him, too cold and tired to care about dignified posture. She let her head tip back, helmet meeting frozen earth with a quiet _thunk_.

"I sent Spina to find 3rd", Gene told her, perceptive eyes studying her. "Told him to beg whatever he could."

Catherine nodded her approval. "Good call. Found some scissors yet?"

He shook his head, frown scrunching his brow. The only way he could explain the mysterious and sudden disappearance of his pair of scissors was that he must have lost them while he tried to find 3rd Battalion last night. In the darkness, with the thick fog caught under the trees, visibility had been reduced to about three feet and the snow masked most of the bumps in the ground. He figured the scissors must have fallen from his pocket at some point.

He put it out of his mind. No use crying over spilt milk, after all. "Mia said she'd ask around", he mentioned.

"Then you'll have some by tomorrow", the Hawaiian determined with a chuckle. It was an open secret among the medics that Mia was almost as good at scrounging as Luz or Hoobler.

"Yeah." Gene rubbed at his burning eyes, blinked a few times.

And of course, Catherine – being the mother that she was – noticed. "Get some sleep", she said, "you were up all night."

His eyes had slid shut before he could even consider protesting.


	48. Chapter 48 - Complaints and Musings

**Hello my dear readers and welcome back to another chapter of this story :) Finally a slightly longer chapter again! I wish I could promise that from now on, they'll all be this long, but ... well, I'll do my best.**

 **As always, thank you all so so much for reading and reviewing. It is always exciting to read your thoughts and opinions, so keep 'em coming!**

 ** **I'm still writing ahead and gosh, I am so not prepared for episode seven! It's already tough enough to write scenes for this episode – The Breaking Point is going to be brutal. I'll probably end up making myself cry...**** **If you have any suggestions as to what should happen in this already gut-wrenching episode, feel free to let me know ;)**

* * *

Maxine walked between the foxholes, shooting the breeze with her friends, doing what she could to keep their spirits up. Her former squad greeted her with slaps on the back. Guarnere grinned at her and filled her in on the latest gossip. She returned the favour, telling him all about the rumblings and rumours that were flying around officer circles.

She checked on the NCOs and told Christenson that she was taking his next shift out on the OP.

"But-"

"No buts, Pat", the Washingtonian insisted. "You're ill, this is the least I can do."

McClung tilted his head and shot his former sergeant an arch smirk. "Did you find out where the CO disappears to all the time?"

She gave him a look of disapproval, which soon changed to resignation. "Look, I know you don't like Lt Dike", she began, "and I understand why. But we have to make do with what we've got, so please…don't let me down?"

They promised. They trusted Maxine, knew she did everything in her power to look out for them, that she was always ready to go to bat for them. She was one of them, a Toccoa girl through and through, loyal and dependable come hell or high water.

Nodding, the lieutenant smiled. "Thanks, guys. Keep warm, okay?"

"You too, Max", Christenson returned, coughing into his sleeve. She made a mental note to get more blankets. And she ought to see if Frances' idea of turning a canteen into a heater had been successful.

* * *

Spina brought back a paltry little bundle of supplies and a story about Babe falling into a Kraut's foxhole.

Catherine rolled her eyes and raised her gaze towards the grey sky, groaning out a despairing "Could you at least _try_ not to die?"

Gene, listening to the rowdy trio of Malarkey, Muck and Penkala, along with Julian and Babe, laughing about it, smiled around his cigarette. Hinkel was the word of the day and the countless jokes made at the man's expense were admittedly quite funny.

Meanwhile, Mia was trekking through ankle-deep snow, jaw clenched to stop her teeth from chattering. The swath of jackets and scarves in her arms failed to infuse even the tiniest shred of warmth into her cold-stiff fingers. One by one, she distributed the clothing among those who needed them most – which admittedly were all of them, but by an unspoken agreement, the ones that were already coughing and running a temperature had priority. Sneaking from foxhole to foxhole, she was met with smiles and appreciating murmurs.

Lifting the tarp of another hole to peer inside, she carefully slipped in next to More.

 **.**

"Hey Doc." Smokey looked up from the odd little contraption that Mia recognised as his helmet on a camp cooker. Steam rose from inside the helmet. "Coffee?"

Her mouth tilted into an amused smile and she nodded gratefully. "Please."

While Smokey busied himself pouring the young woman a cup of helmet coffee, Mia handed More a scarf. He set down the magazine he'd been oiling and gladly accepted the length of woolly cloth, marvelling at it before quickly wrapping it around his neck.

"Where on Earth did you get these?", he asked when he saw another scarf resting in her lap.

"Cassandra", she fibbed easily.

Smothering a cough in the crook of his elbow, More hummed a hoarse acknowledgement.

Cradling the cup Smokey passed her between her hands, Mia briefly closed her eyes as the steam curling up sent tingles across her face.

Some of the scarves had come into her possession via Cassandra, but the rest she had gotten from their other sister company. She had strayed into Dog's part of the line during her hunt for supplies and they had been kind enough to share some of the clothes they had acquired. In exchange for several packs of smokes and a handful of chocolate bars.

 **.**

Speirs had walked with her for a bit since he'd been on his way to get a report from the platoon sergeants anyway.

"You're not taking one for yourself", he'd said. It hadn't been a question because he knew. He knew most of the time.

So she had replied with a simple "No".

"You're shaking", he had pointed out for the sake of the argument.

She had shrugged and he'd dropped the subject, understanding her decision no matter how much he disliked it.

Before they parted ways, however, the fearsome lieutenant had sternly reminded her to look after herself. "You can't look after the men if you make yourself sick."

She had taken his point and promised to do her best. Not the most reassuring promise, but Speirs had acknowledged that this was all he could ask for. The medics took their job seriously and always put themselves last, that was simply a fact.

 **.**

Swallowing a sip of the blissfully hot beverage, Mia pulled herself out of her thoughts and turned serious eyes to Smokey. "Luz said you had something for us?"

"Yeah", he smiled, passing another cup of helmet-boiled coffee to his foxhole buddy. "Morphine. 3rd platoon ponied up the contraband."

Her brows creased and she frowned at the syrettes he handed her. "Why didn't they give them to us before?", she wondered, tilting her head questioningly and glancing at Smokey.

He nodded with a shrug that was both apologetic and helpless.

More took a sip from his cup before chiming in: "Whatever the reason, it wasn't a good one."

Expression smoothing, the medic tucked the precious medicine into her jacket and savoured another mouthful of coffee, exhaling a soft sigh. Even if she didn't care much for the taste, she would never pass on the opportunity to get something hot into her belly. Her fingers and palms ached as the heat radiating off the cup permeated her skin, blood rushing back towards her fingertips in a flood of needle pricks.

A yawn tugged at her jaw. She forced it back and pulled her knees higher when a pronounced shudder ran through her. In the cramped confines of the foxhole, with the tarp trapping the toasty warmth of Smokey's cooker, she could almost forget the icy chill of the wind, the dry bite of the freezing temperatures and the dreary, gloomy haze of fog.

 **.**

Smokey shared a look with his foxhole buddy, who offered a shrug. "Doc Roe still looking for scissors?", he quizzed instead, vaguely remembering the dark-haired Cajun asking for a pair earlier in the day.

"Mm-hm", Mia confirmed, the quiet sound hollow in her cup as she took another gulp.

"Perconte", was all he supplied. The Italian radioman had a tendency to overpack – which was putting it mildly. The man, despite being one of the shortest members of the company after Ana María, always had the biggest pack.

Mia's lips pursed in thought and she murmured: "I'll tell Gene. Thank you." She drained the rest of her coffee and gave the empty cup back to Smokey.

"Oh hey Doc", More stopped her with a hand on her knee as she unfurled her legs to brave the bitter cold night again. "You should check on Joe Toye out on the OP."

Blue eyes narrowed into an intrigued, concerned frown. "Okay", she said, shimmying out of the foxhole. "Thanks. Keep warm."

"You too", the two men chorused. Then she let the tarp drop back down, sealing in the comfortable heat.

* * *

The cold hit her like a slap to the face, stinging on her skin. Each breath burned in her windpipe, the frost-laced air spreading an ache in her lungs. She pulled up her shoulders, looked around to reassure herself of her position, then set off to the OP.

Crawling up to the distinct silhouette of the outpost that stood out ominously against the pitch-dark sky, the messy-haired medic paid no mind to the pistol pointed at her.

As soon as he recognised her, Toye lowered the weapon, mumbling a sullen greeting.

"Are you okay?", she whispered.

McClung grunted unhappily. "They have hot food", he said, his tone bordering on sulking. "Can you smell it?"

She couldn't, not with the cold numbing her olfactory receptors. Shifting and trying not to grimace at the feeling of snow slowly melting underneath her, Mia turned to Toye. "Joe, More said you're missing something?"

"Home", he answered dully.

Mia gave a short hum, small hand coming out of a dirty, rusty-stained sleeve to briefly pat his shoulder.

McClung's head moved a fraction and he suggested: "Ask him to dance, Doc", shooting the quiet girl a telling glance.

 **.**

Machine gun fire cut off whatever snarky grumble Toye geared up to throw at him. They flinched, muscles tensing up like overwrought wire. But they quickly relaxed again since the muzzle flashes streaking the air were quite a distance away.

Returning to the matter at hand, Mia fixed her friend with a scrutinising look. "What's wrong, Joe?", she asked, concern stirring in her gentle accent.

Obviously still disgruntled about being tattled on, Toye growled: "You watch the goddamn line, McClung." With a sigh, he shuffled around and showed her his foot – wrapped in several layers of rags.

Mia's eyes widened and her brows pulled together. "Where are your shoes?", she breathed, worry mixing with puzzled wariness.

He gave her a dark look and muttered: "In Washington, up General Taylor's ass." Faced with his friend's discerning gaze, he reluctantly explained, tone clipped with frustration. He had taken his boots off to dry his socks – just like the medics kept telling them to – and an incoming shell had blown them to kingdom come.

Shaking her head, the young woman clicked her tongue. "What shoe size do you have?"

"Nine", Joe replied, "just like everybody else" The faint trace of a fondly teasing smile curled the edge of his mouth as he added: "Of the guys."

She smiled. "I'll bring you some new boots", she murmured before advising him to keep his feet dry.

"Thanks, Mia." He wasn't stupid enough to argue with a medic and he knew there was an impressive stubborn streak underneath the unflappable façade. "You should get some rest."

With a nod and a soft reminder to bundle up and stay warm, the medic scooted backwards. Toye watched her melt into the shadows of the treeline, the fog doing its part in hiding her from the enemy's eyes. Turning back to the line, he wondered distractedly if Mia even had a foxhole.

* * *

Finding Gene proved surprisingly easy in spite of the forest's grey monotony. He studied her with a critical eye, noted the persistent shivers wracking her frame and the purplish tint of her lips. Had she always been so skinny?

"You gotta get some sleep, Mia", he told her. "You look like _un fantôme_."

She blinked slowly, made an acknowledging noise. "Smokey said that you should ask Perconte for scissors", she said, rubbing at her eye. Drained from the cold and worry, the gradually spreading numbness inside her chest seemed to have moved to her brain, leaving her feeling fuzzy and off-balance.

"Perconte", he repeated, the hint of tired exasperation in his tone punctuated by a flat look and an eyeroll.

Mia mustered a small smile. "He always packs everything."

"Yeah…"

 **.**

Gene gave himself a shake and filled his friend in on the latest developments in the company.

Several cases of the sniffles, quite a few men with a wet, rattling cough. Sergeant Guarnere was complaining of "pissing needles", which they agreed to be caused by a UTI (or a "Blasenentzündung", as Mia called it). Jessica had had a nosebleed earlier in the night; Catherine suspected it to be a side-effect from the cold. Trench foot was a growing concern and gangrene with it. A replacement had contracted dysentery.

Mia blew out a weary breath, dispassionately watching the cloud of vapour dissolve in the icy air. "At least we have some more morphine", she muttered, clinging to the only positive her mind could come up with. She fished two syrettes from her bag, smiling at the way Gene's expression lit up in relief at the sight.

He took the syrettes and held them in his palm like they were the holy grail. Then, he snapped out of his reverie and pinned her with his no-nonsense, no-argument stare. "Now you get some rest. Mom's already worried."

The _as am I_ was left unsaid, but Mia heard it nonetheless. She nodded and offered him a muted smile. "I'll find a foxhole", she promised.

"Good. Else I'll have Louise track you down", he threatened, only half-joking.

A soft chuckle escaped her and she waved it off, the smile growing a little deeper. "Don't worry about me, Gene", she said quietly, eyes flickering up to his. "I'm fine."

Giving his arm a brief squeeze, she left, footsteps muffled in the freshly fallen snow.

Watching his friend disappear in the direction of First platoon's foxholes, Gene mumbled to himself: "I hope you're right."

* * *

Johnny looked up when he heard the soft crunch of snow under jump boots. The thin form of their youngest medic appeared at the lip of the foxhole. A blindingly bright flare climbed into the night sky. MG fire rattled in the distance.

He watched as Mia froze, ducked low in the flimsy cover of the shadows. _Like a deer in the headlights_ , he thought. The lower half of her face was swallowed by her collar, right up to the bridge of her nose, leaving only a pair of big, recondite eyes peering at the dark, mist-shrouded world around her.

After a tense moment, she carefully eased herself into the foxhole. In the sharp light of the flare, the snow glaringly white around them, the young woman looked startlingly pale and gaunt.

"Do you have no foxhole partner?", she asked as she tugged her collar down a little, voice pitched at a soft whisper.

He huffed, the constant cold doing nothing for his mood. "Bull's out on the OP." He narrowed his eyes at her and questioned: "What about you? Do you even have a foxhole?"

She paused and in the dimming light of the dying flare, he caught the hint of unease flickering across her features. "Um…", she began, clearly contemplating what to say. She abandoned her first sentence in favour of the truth. "No."

"Where did you sleep last night, then?", Johnny wondered, torn between confusion and a creeping suspicion.

Her gaze dropped away and her slim shoulders twitched in a dismissive shrug. "I didn't. I was trying to find supplies." He sensed rather than saw the shift in Mia's body language and heard it reflected in her voice. Hesitantly, almost shily, the young medic asked: "Do you mind if I stay for a little? I can leave when Bull comes back."

 **.**

He had agreed before she'd gotten halfway through. He didn't want to see a repeat of Neill if he could help it. The medics were literally running themselves into the ground trying to look after everyone and without them, the company wouldn't last a week. So letting Mia share his foxhole was probably the least he could do.

Her relief was almost palpable, her soft thanks full of gratitude. They drifted into silence, their breaths joining the fog in silver puffs.

Johnny pondered the girl across from him, studied the vague outlines of her body that he could only just make out in the greyish darkness. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell that she wasn't asleep by the rhythm of her breathing. The small stutters in her quiet exhales that matched the shivers running through her.

"When have you last heard from your family?", he found himself asking, encouraged by a sudden swell of curiosity.

A hitch interrupted the steady pattern of her breaths. It was too dark to see, but Johnny could picture her expression – surprised, guarded, maybe a little confused.

"You mean…my family on the other side?" The words came haltingly, tinged with an uncertainty he wouldn't commonly associate with the reticent medic.

He shrugged. "Yeah, them too."

 **.**

Mia paused for a long stretch and Johnny was just beginning to think that she wouldn't answer, that his question had been too personal, when she said: "The last letter came a few weeks ago. My older brother wrote most of it, but my sister added a little, too."

He sat up a little. "You have four siblings, right?" He recalled Luz telling them about the chat he'd had with the oddly quiet and reserved young woman on a night march, but he wasn't sure if his memory was completely accurate. Basic training seemed hundreds of years ago.

But Mia smiled and nodded. "Yes. Three brothers and one sister", she confirmed.

She didn't share the contents of her brother's letter and Johnny didn't pry. Instead he asked about her uncle and cousins, who had been drafted into the German army not long after Mia had signed up for the paratroopers.

In Easy, they all knew about one another's families and friends back home – it was inevitable, really, what with everyone living practically on top of each other for more than two years now. It was simply a matter of time before you learned about your comrades' dearest ones, through anecdotes, letters and the occasional photograph.

But just like with everything else, Mia had been quiet and hesitant to talk about her family. Understandably so, Johnny thought. He could still remember her expression when the topic of her having family on the enemy side had first been brought up. The flash of fear before she had answered, the apprehension in her voice. Her fierce defence when she'd misinterpreted his shock as judgement.

"The last I heard, they were still alive", she said, sole of her boot scraping along frozen earth as she tried to conserve more body heat by pulling her knees even closer to her chest. "But those news are months old."

 **.**

He had never heard her sound so defeated and exhausted. Sighing, he scooted over until her bony elbow nudged against his thigh. Mia froze for a telling moment that Johnny pretended not to have noticed, grumbling instead: "Jesus Christ, you're gonna fall apart if you keep shaking like that."

A giggle danced through the ice-crusted air and she ducked her tousle-haired head to hide the flash of her smile as another giggle left her chapped lips. "Believe me, I would stop if I knew how."

He snorted and snarked: "Yeah, no shit. If I never have to see snow again, it'll be too soon."

"So you'll move to the desert when you get back home?"

The innocent question was pitched with just a dash of friendly sarcasm, pulling a grin out of Johnny. "Hell no", he said, shaking his head, "I don't wanna live in a friggin' oven either."

She chuckled.

* * *

Bull returned from guard duty on the outpost weary and frozen stiff. "It's just Bull", he heard Johnny mutter just as he reached the foxhole, "go back to sleep, Doc."

Curiosity rising as to which of their medics his foxhole partner was talking to, Bull peered into the foxhole. He allowed himself a brief moment to wonder why Mia had chosen exactly this foxhole before he lowered himself down, stifling a wince as a muscle in his back protested quite angrily.

The young woman greeted him with an indistinct mumble, lids already closing again.

Scrutinising the sleeping figure huddled up between them for a few seconds, Bull quirked a questioning eyebrow towards his friend, whose expression morphed into one of his signature displeased scowls.

"She doesn't have a foxhole and hasn't slept _at all_ last night", the shorter man relayed in a subvocalized hiss, outrage coiled tightly around every syllable while his glare was lost in the night. "Or today. And likely not even yesterday."

"That right?" Bull couldn't claim that he was overly surprised. He said as much.

Johnny huffed and Bull felt him scowl, heated displeasure at their situation in general rolling off his friend in waves. He allowed himself a private, fond smile and calmly pointed out: "Mia can look after herself."

A grumble came from the other side of their subject who shifted in her sleep. "Could'a fooled me."

"She's survived on her own behind enemy lines." On multiple occasions by now and it continued to amaze the men, replacements and veterans alike.

"I know that", Johnny acknowledged reluctantly, brushing Bull's comment away with a roundabout wave of his hand. "But-" He broke off as a memory hit him, popping up at the forefront of his mind seemingly without context.

 **.**

It had been only a few days after that disastrous day in Nuenen. Johnny had been talking to Theresa and Maxine when Mia had walked by, listening to one of Luz' animated tales with a small smile.

Her injuries – road rash and bloody scrapes marring the side of her face – had been joined by bruises spilling across her skin in angry blues and purples. Her sleeves had still been ripped and frayed, her own blood still dried in rust-coloured splatters on the drab fabric.

"It always looks worse before it gets better", Maxine had said, a strange twist in her elegant brow as her warm eyes tracked the young medic's path.

He had made a noise of agreement, gaze catching on the bandages that hid the abrasions and cuts on her palms and forearms.

 **.**

"…it doesn't always look like it", Johnny finished, the image vanishing from before his inner eye. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself as a shiver took hold of his spine, recalling the conversation he'd had with Theresa about Mia's apparent lack of self-preservation.

His fellow NCO, gifted with a talent for analytical thinking and a love for puzzles, had pointed out that the issue wasn't a _lack_ of self-preservation. Mia was extremely good at surviving; her presence of mind and situational awareness had gotten her out of several tight spots alive. It was more the fact that she genuinely seemed to think her own well-being less important than everybody else's simply because she was a medic.

Bull listened and mulled it over for a few moments before humming in acknowledgement: "She thinks of everyone else but sometimes forgets about herself."

"Right", Johnny agreed. "That's what Reese said, too."

Peaceable silence settled over their cramped little foxhole. Bull shuffled a little closer to Mia, feeling her shivers even with the five-inch gap between them. By unspoken agreement, Johnny copied his motions, moving closer until the sleeping girl was comfortably wedged between them.

 **.**

The peace didn't last long, though, because then it started raining shells again. Then somebody was screaming for a medic and Mia was running.

She had gone from dead asleep to wide awake in the span of half a second when the first shells hit. The moment the cry for a medic rose over the cacophony of explosions, she was on her feet and out of the foxhole.

All Bull and Johnny could do was watch her disappear into the flash- and noise-torn fog and pray that she would be safe.


	49. Chapter 49 - Wounded upon Dead

**Hey folks! I originally planned on uploading this chapter tomorrow morning. But since my week hasn't been bountiful in terms of sleep (read: lousy), I figured I might as well post this now and hope to catch up on the sleep I lost thanks to my stomach being an absolute sissy...**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter and I apologise in advance for the abrupt ending. (You can't exactly call it a cliff-hanger because we all know what happens)**

 **Also, thank you all so much for your reviews! I love reading your thoughts and opinions on the characters and the story. And as always - if you have any ideas or suggestions, don't hesitate to get in touch ;)**

* * *

Morning brought another artillery barrage. Trees exploded into a hail of javelins left and right and the earth shook and bucked. NCOs were bellowing orders for everyone to stay low and take cover. Screams for medics rose above the pandemonium.

Then the shelling stopped, the last echoes tapering off like thunder rolling in the distance. Heavy breathing filled the air that was thick with uncertainty and apprehension.

Was it over? Was it safe again?

Ana María coughed, the smell of ash and burnt snow stinging in her nostrils. The dry, hacking cough attracted the attention of her foxhole partner, Forrest Guth.

"Jeez", he commented, wincing in sympathy, "that sounds bad."

"Thanks", the radio op retorted between a few weak coughs that heralded the end of the fit. "It feels bad, too."

"Are you okay?"

She cleared her throat and gave her friend a smile. "Yeah, I'm alright. Don't worry, it's only a cough."

Guth seemed to accept that, because his good-natured features lightened with humour again. "Well, it can't be that bad", he reasoned with a teasing glint in his eyes. "You're not cursing a blue streak in Spanish yet."

Snickering, Ana María stuck her tongue out at him. "That was nothing", she said, flicking a few broken branches and pieces of charred bark out of their foxhole. "Really, you should have heard me that one time in basic when I fell off the monkey bars and sprained my elbow." She grinned. "My mamá would have whacked me with _una chancla_ …"

* * *

While Ana María discussed cultural intricacies of growing up in a Hispanic household, two jeeps were travelling towards the besieged town of Bastogne. Their passengers: one medic and one patient each.

Skinny's leg was riddled with what could only be described as half a tree's worth of splintered wood. He had met Gene's reassurance of "Ain't that bad" with a breathless, incredulous laugh.

"Ain't that bad?", he had repeated, caught between disbelief and hope while he was clutching his battered appendage with blood-slick hands. Despite the immense pain, though, he had refused the offered morphine.

"Save it, Doc", he had told the Cajun through panting breaths, "I can make it."

 **.**

A few miles behind the first jeep followed the second one, carrying Mia and the wounded Hayes. The replacement had been running for the nearest foxhole when he'd been struck by flying shrapnel. The syrette Mia had given him was just enough to take the edge off, but he was still in a world of agony, whimpering with every other breath.

"You'll be okay, Hayes", the young medic repeated again and again until the frightened kid dropped into unconsciousness, the pain and blood loss taking their toll.

She sat back on her haunches while her hands maintained pressure on the gauze-packed wound in Hayes' upper chest. Her gaze roamed across the landscape as the jeep barrelled down the snow-covered road.

The wind needled through her clothing and snowflakes kept finding their way down her collar, pulling the heat straight out of her body. Hayes' blood that spilled over her fingers was disgustingly warm in contrast, the sensation leaving a clump of revulsion in her throat.

 **.**

By the time they reached Bastogne, Hayes was dead and Mia not the least bit surprised. Sad and resigned, but not surprised. The wounds had been in the wrong places, the wrong shape and size. He had lost too much blood too quickly.

The strange hazy numbness in her chest rose to constrict her throat, spread to curve her shoulders. _Er wäre noch am Leben, wenn wir besser ausgerüstet wären_.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek and shook her head as if to physically banish the thought. Hayes was dead, period. He'd probably have made it to the hospital if they'd had the appropriate supplies, but they didn't. There was no point in getting angry over their lack of supplies.

And so, while Gene smiled at Skinny's dazed proclamation of "I'm in Heaven, Doc", Mia watched as Hayes' body was carried away, another corpse to be added to the sickeningly big pile in front of the church that served as a hospital.

The young woman sighed, the cold air stinging as it travelled past the back of her throat. German and Allied corpses alike were lined up right next to each other, ice and snow clinging to their uniforms and pale, empty faces.

Taking another breath, she entered the hospital.

* * *

The church was brimming with wounded, the stench of blood, sweat and pain overwhelming. Soldiers with relatively minor injuries milled about on the porch and in the foyer, medics flitting about to treat their wounds. Downstairs, every available horizontal surface was covered in casualties, their condition ranging from 'stable and on the mend' to 'on death's door'.

Rationally, Mia had known that the roads were cut, that they were surrounded. But it was only now that the true extent of this fact hit her. At least three quarters of these soldiers should have been evacuated due to the nature of their injuries.

And yet they were still here.

They were surrounded, this was as far as it would go.

Moving to the side to let a pair of litter bearers pass, she found Skinny on one of the tables, propping himself up on his elbow, a glass filled with a yellowish liquid in his hand. A dark-skinned nurse was bent over his bloodied leg, plucking twigs and splinters from his shin.

 **.**

"Doc", Skinny grinned when he spotted her. "My leg's been turned into shashlik."

"It looks like it", she agreed with a smile, stepping closer. "How's the pain?"

He raised the glass he was holding, the silly grin widening. "It's great."

Her eyebrows rose and she asked: "Is that…alcohol?"

The nurse looked up. "C'est de l'alcool, oui", she said, her mouth twisting into a small frown before it smoothed out again. She switched to English, her accent strong but flowing as she added: "It helps with the pain."

Meaning that their supplies were just as scarce as those of the divisions out on the front lines. Instead of morphine, they numbed the pain with the judicious application of hooch.

"At least he's a happy drunk", Mia shrugged, making her tone light-hearted with some effort.

The nurse chuckled. "Dieu merci." She put the tweezers away and dabbed at the blood seeping from the multitude of puncture wounds on Skinny's leg. "What's your name?", she then inquired as she flushed the wounds.

Skinny winced and groaned, the alcohol obviously not strong enough to take away the pain entirely.

"Mia", the young medic answered, pushing her sleeves back and moving to assist. "Mia Arricante. And you?"

"Augusta Chiwy", the nurse said, giving her a smile. "But people call me Anna." Her eyebrows creased in curiosity and she asked: "Where are you from? Your English…it sounds different."

Mia paused to take the empty glass from Skinny's hand and helped him lie back down.

"I grew up in Ulm", she said quietly, starting to bandage the now clean wounds littering her comrade's lower leg. "In Germany."

Augusta – Anna – didn't seem bothered by this revelation. "I'm from the Congo", she offered instead, "but we returned to Belgium when I was a child."

The messy-haired medic smiled in acknowledgement and they worked together in silence to patch up Skinny's wounds as best they could with their limited supplies.

 **.**

Treatment finished, Mia told Skinny: "I'll see you soon", bid Augusta goodbye and headed outside.

There, she crouched down beside one of the countless corpses and carefully pulled off its boots after checking that they were the correct size. Toye had better use for them than a dead man and she had promised to find him a pair.

The brunette straightened just as Gene came out of the church, clutching a box of supplies.

"Mia. Found some boots for Toye, huh?"

She nodded, a smile crossing her tired features. "I see you found some supplies."

"Yeah. 's not much, but it's better than nothing", the Cajun said, corners of his mouth ticking up.

 **.**

They approached the jeep that was parked a few feet down the street.

"Can you get us back to the line?", Gene asked.

"Sure", the driver answered, taking the crate of supplies from him and putting it in the back of the jeep. He slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

Footsteps crunched in the frost-hardened slush.

"Eugene!", a voice called.

Both medics turned to see a pretty blonde nurse standing there, her blue headscarf a refreshing splash of colour in the washed out grey and drab surrounding them. She tossed something to Gene. "Chocolat", she said, a smile on her lips. "Pour vous."

Staring down at the precious gift for a moment, Gene nodded his thanks with a brief smile.

Then, the two medics climbed into the jeep and the driver eased the vehicle down the road, navigating rubble and bustling personnel.

Mia tipped her head back and inhaled deeply, relishing the feeling of the winter sun on her skin. All too soon, though, they were back in the disorienting fog that swallowed sounds and sunlight and dampened their clothes.

* * *

"…et spiritus sanctus, amen", Father Maloney finished mass. "Fight well for your God and your country. God bless you all, stay safe."

Theresa got to her feet, jiggling her legs to get the blood flowing again after kneeling in the snow to receive the priest's blessing.

"That's it, guys", Skip announced cheerily. "If we die now, we die in a state of grace."

"Yeah because we're fresh out of dignity", Malarkey agreed with a snort, earning himself a smattering of chuckles and chortles.

Jess made a show of looking around as if searching for something. "Dignity? Where?", she asked. "I haven't seen mine since June!"

 **.**

Theresa left them to their jokes and chatter while they finished gearing up for patrol.

Luz grumbled about Lt Peacock leading the patrol, annoyance coating his sarcasm as he commented: "That asshole couldn't find a snowball in a blizzard."

She didn't bother stifling the chuckle that escaped her. Peacock was a nice guy and he tried hard, but he was directionally challenged and not the brightest tactician, so once more, it was up to the NCOs.

Letting her gaze roam over assembled soldiers, she noticed Gene jogging over to them while Mia was trudging in the general direction of 2nd platoon's foxholes, a pair of boots in hand.

 **.**

Her attention was diverted when Julian, the pale replacement who shared a foxhole with Babe, walked up to where Johnny was discussing a few details with Peacock.

"Sarge?", he asked, hesitant and eager at the same time.

"Yeah, Julian?", Johnny responded, turning to the kid.

"Let me be lead scout."

Johnny's lips thinned and he shook his head. "Back in line, private", he said, not unkindly. Julian was a good kid, but inexperienced. He'd get a chance to prove himself as a scout, just not on a combat patrol in heavy fog with the enemy within spitting distance.

"That's it, let's move out!", Peacock hollered.

"Tactical columns, gentlemen!", Johnny ordered, voice pitched at a quieter volume than their lieutenant.

 **.**

Double-checking that her rifle was loaded out of sheer habit, Theresa fell into step with Christenson as they began their trek out into the grey forest.

"Herron", she said, glancing back to the new kid that looked so nervous and out of place among the seasoned soldiers, "you're with me."

He swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

* * *

Snow gently flurried down from the sky as they headed further and further away from their line. Theresa kept Herron close by while the rest of her squad spread out, Geraghty acting as their lead scout. Apart from their footsteps crunching softly in the fresh snow, it was all quiet. Unsettlingly so. They hadn't heard a peep from the enemy line since the last barrage that morning.

Until gunfire ripped through the forest.

They flinched down, gripping their rifles tighter.

"Up ahead", Theresa said, cursing the infernal fog for making it so hard to localise the fight. "C'mon."

They proceeded with cautious haste, trying to stay as close to the trees as possible while they moved forward.

That changed as soon as their platoon sergeant's voice rose above the rattling MG and carbine fire.

"BULL! CHRISTENSON!" A burst of gunfire. "NOLAN! UP ON LINE!"

Caution took a backseat as Theresa raced towards the gunfire and shouts, blood rushing in her ears. A sickening sense of apprehension flooded her stomach and urged her to run faster. But she stopped herself, instead making sure that Herron could keep up, even though she already knew deep down that something bad had happened.

Bad enough to put that sharp, near-frantic pitch of urgency into Johnny's tone.


	50. Chapter 50 - Worry and Guilt

**Hello everybody! Lo and behold, it's me updating a week early. I unfortunately won't have time to upload anything next week, so I decided to post this ahead of schedule instead of making you wait three weeks.**

 **That being said, please note that the next update will now be on the 20th or 21st December.**

 **As always, I want to thank all of you wonderful people for reading this fic and leaving kind and funny reviews. I'm really pleased that you enjoy my writing and how much you like the characters. I already apologise for the Hell I'll be putting them through... gosh, I'm so not ready.  
**

* * *

Meanwhile, in another part of the woods, Esther and Cassandra hiked through the snow, occasionally stumbling because in the dim, greyish light of the fog, it was near-impossible to tell where the ground might be uneven, especially since it was snowing quite heavily.

Fox Company had been in need of a translator, their own killed in the artillery attack of the night before. And since none of Easy's translators had been available at the time, they had turned to their other sister company.

Her brief temporary assignment over, Esther was now expected to return to Dog Company, Cassandra accompanying her since Fox's Lieutenant Rhodes absolutely refused to have anybody venture out into the woods alone.

"You're taking a jeep back, Jessup, understood?", he had instructed, jaw tense under a week's worth of stubble.

She had agreed without protest, grateful that she didn't have to walk back on her own.

 **.**

Silence pressed against her ears and the blonde blinked a snowflake from her lashes, turning her head to survey her friend.

Esther had been oddly quiet all day. Their situation had everybody on edge, of course, and while some tried to dispel the glumness and apprehension by cracking jokes and telling silly stories, others were more subdued in the face of the nerve-wrecking back and forth between dull monotony and terrifying barrages.

But Esther, who had taken it in stride when they had sat in rain-filled foxholes for days on end in Holland, seemed to be in particularly low spirits.

"What's bothering you?", Cassandra asked. Her voice sounded slightly muffled, the fog lending it an almost cotton-like quality.

Esther lifted her head, dark eyes flicking over to her. "It's stupid."

Cassandra's eyebrow quirked up. "Since when has that been an issue?", she questioned. "It's bothering you so even if it is irrational or silly, it's obviously not stupid since you, my friend, aren't stupid."

The frown that had marked Esther's features all day softened a little and she dipped her head in acknowledgement. "It's just… I missed Hanukkah", she said quietly as she rubbed her hands together in a more or less futile attempt to warm them.

Her expression grew wistful, dark eyes straying into the white haze surrounding them while pleasant memories danced in the soft smile on her lips. "We, my family, we always celebrate together. It's a really big thing for us. Everyone comes together, we light the hanukkiah" – she chuckled – "well, the younger kids always argue about who gets to light it. There's songs and games and so much food."

 **.**

Cassandra listened, smiling slightly at the picture her friend created with her words. Esther talked about the rapture on her little cousins' faces at the sight of the burning candles, the delight in their eyes when they won a few chocolate coins in a dreidel game, the pure joy when they were allowed to open their presents.

"Sounds a lot like Christmas", she commented, her heart growing a little heavier at the thought of not spending her favourite holiday with her own family.

"I suppose it is", Esther nodded. "Though we have 8 days, not just one or two." The smile faded and the frown returned.

Patting her friend on the shoulder, Cassandra offered: "It's not stupid to miss your family, you know?"

A disbelieving scoff preceded Esther's response. "We have a lot bigger problems, Cassandra. Don't you think it's a little selfish of me to be homesick now of all times?"

"No."

Esther's brows furrowed. "No?"

"No", Cassandra repeated with a shrug. "Just because we have bigger problems doesn't mean that you're not allowed to have your own worries, too."

 **.**

There was a pregnant pause and Cassandra noticed that they had stopped. Esther was staring at her with a mixture of emotions, surprise shifting towards a more thoughtful expression before a shimmer of humour crept into the corners of her mouth.

"When did you become so wise?", she asked, turning to continue walking.

The blonde grinned. "I've always been wise, you just don't give me any credit."

Esther laughed and gave her a friendly shove. "Shut up."

 _Crack!_

They started and dropped low. Cassandra looked around, once more frustrated to no end with the infernal fog.

Gripping her rifle, she squinted at the surrounding trees. There had only been one shot, so hopefully, there was only one person.

A second shot rent the air.

The bullet whizzed past them and hit a tree in a spray of bark and splintering wood. Cassandra turned and spotted the shooter crouched next to a tree. Twisting, she aimed and fired before he had time to react.

 **.**

"Never interrupt your enemy when he's making a mistake", she mumbled absently with a last look at the crumpled form, climbing to her knees.

As a response, she received a groan from her companion. A low, pain-filled groan. Cassandra's stomach plummeted towards her boots.

Esther was still lying on the ground, hands clamped around her thigh, teeth grit and breaths panting. From between her pale fingers, blood spilled forth at an alarming rate, staining the snow a grotesque maroon.

"P-please tell me you got the bastard", the dark-haired translator ground out with a grunt.

Cassandra distractedly reassured her that the guy was dead, fumbling her aid kit out of her pocket with trembling hands. Finally managing to unfurl the bandage, she said, rather unnecessarily: "This is gonna hurt."

"Don't worry", Esther bit back, "it already is."

 **.**

Bandaging the wound as best she could, Cassandra wasted no time hauling Esther upright. The injured woman just barely managed to stifle a scream when pain seared up and down her leg. A drawn-out whine slipped past her teeth though as they dug into her bottom lip.

"Argh, fuck", she gasped as Cassandra ducked under her arm to support her.

The South Dakotan studied her friend with unconcealed worry as they set off at the fastest pace possible. Which was still excruciatingly slow since Esther could put hardly any weight on her wounded leg without crying out and the fresh snow wasn't helping either.

The New Yorker was sheet-white and shaking, no doubt from the snow melting slowly on her clothes. Despite the freezing cold, however, a sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. With each step, she sagged more against her and her eyes had that glazed, distant quality to it that Cassandra remembered from that gruelling march to Atlanta in basic training. It was an unmistakable sign that Esther was upright and moving only through sheer force of will.

Cassandra just prayed to God or whoever was listening that they weren't going to be waylaid by any more Krauts that had apparently lost their way. _God I hope I haven't jinxed it_ , she thought, readjusting her hold on Esther. Her heart was beating in her throat, her stomach felt like it was filled with lead and twisting itself in knots.

 **.**

"How's the leg, Esther?", she asked between two puffing breaths. Half-dragging, half-carrying a fully-grown woman in paratrooper gear through a good 8 inches of snow was exhausting on the best of days, even with proper food and enough sleep.

 _S'pose it's a good thing we don't have winter clothing now_ , she mused with a touch of sardonic amusement.

Realising that she had yet to get a reply to her question, Cassandra suddenly felt even colder. "Esther? Esther?" She gave her a rough shake and tried not to feel sick at the way her friend's head lolled. "Hey! You with me?"

"S'll here", Esther mumbled between two blinks that were much too slow for Cassandra's liking.

"Uh-huh. Remind me again where 'here' is?", she requested, breathing a sigh of partial relief as she saw that one tree with the weirdly bent branch start to take shape in the fog.

They were on the right track. _Thank God for small miracles_.

"Hell."

Cassandra frowned, momentarily caught off-guard. "Huh?"

"Hell", Esther repeated in a weak slur, eyelids at half-mast. "We… we're in Hell."

"Close enough", Cassandra agreed, catching her once more as she faltered. "C'mon, it's not too far anymore."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Cassandra was ready to cry when the tarp-covered shape of Easy's CP came into sight.

"Help!", she shouted with what little air her lungs could spare. "I need a medic!"

Esther had passed out a few miles ago, forcing Cassandra to carry her on her back and leaving her terribly vulnerable. Her legs were aching, her sides burning with stitches.

Rushed footsteps approached and the fog spat Maxine into their direction, rifle in hand.

"She was hit in the thigh", Cassandra wheezed out in explanation as the other woman steadied her.

Maxine nodded curtly, calling: "O'Brien, get us another jeep!"

 **.**

They set Esther down on the snow-free ground of the CP, Maxine draping a blanket over the unconscious woman's torso before kneeling down to inspect the wound. Cassandra collapsed onto an empty crate and raked shaky fingers through her sweaty blonde hair, bending forward to catch her breath. In the background, Lt O'Brien was busy hashing out logistics over the radio.

It was only then that Maxine's words properly registered in her brain and she frowned. "Another?", she asked. "Another jeep?"

She looked up to see Maxine looking back at her, hazel eyes solemn and slightly red-rimmed. Cassandra's throat closed as a curl of anxiety rose into her chest at the pronounced pallor of her face and the grim line of her mouth. "What happened?"

"Patrol hit the enemy line", the tall lieutenant replied, somehow managing to sound composed, angry and exhausted at the same time. "Two casualties. One fatal. He was just a boy."

Her gaze dropped down to Esther and she changed the subject. "Looks like the bleeding has stopped", she said, offering Cassandra a small smile.

 **.**

The blonde gave only a vague twitch of her lips, eyes drifting to her wounded friend. She felt sick to her stomach. Was this what Audrey had felt like when she, Cassandra, had been wounded in Normandy?

There was blood drying on the side of her sleeve, where Esther's leg had pushed against it. She swallowed, a lump lodged in her throat. Esther's complexion matched the snow and fog surrounding them, closing in on them. Her bottom lip was bloodied, almost as if she'd bit on it. Maybe she had, clamping her teeth down against the pain.

Cassandra didn't know and couldn't really get her mind to focus on anything past the roiling of her stomach and the feeling of Esther's dried blood caking her fingers.

* * *

"-sandra?"

A voice reached her ears, seeping through between the resounding beats of her heart. A familiar voice.

"Cassandra?"

There it was again. A bit more sharply. It sounded worried. Had something happened? Did she get hurt? … Her legs burned like she'd been made to run Currahee three times in a row. Her shoulders and neck also ached quite a bit, the knotted muscles giving her a headache. But nothing that felt like she'd been wounded.

A body settled next to her.

"Esther's gonna be alright, Cassandra", the voice said, kind and sympathetic.

Esther? Recognition prickled the back of her head and a weird sensation swept through her, like a colony of ants crawling up her skull towards her forehead.

The memories came rushing back.

She blinked, returning to herself.

 **.**

Maxine was sitting by her side, watching her closely with unmasked concern twisting her elegant brow. A smile brightened her face when she saw awareness filtering back into Cassandra's expression.

"There you are", she said, releasing a breath that Cassandra knew was sheer relief. Her gut twisted even tighter in the knowledge that she had seriously worried the caring Washingtonian. "You got a little lost in your head for a bit, hm?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

Maxine rubbed her arm. "Don't be."

She made an ambivalent noise that might be construed as acceptance when it really was just self-scorn. "You said Esther's going to be okay", she said, curious as well as desperate to avoid any further discussion of her lapse.

The lieutenant nodded, the tension around her mouth and along the line of her jaw easing. "Yes. At least that's what Mampre said."

"Mampre?" She frowned. How long had she been 'lost in her head'? Was she losing her mind that she hadn't even registered the medic arriving and taking Esther away?

"He was at HQ when O'Brien called for the second jeep", Maxine explained. "He wasn't too concerned, especially after Esther woke up."

And she had missed her wounded friend regaining consciousness because she had been too busy … freaking out? panicking? breaking down? She shoved a hand through her hair and blew out a breath. It came out more shuddery than she'd expected.

 **.**

An arm wrapped itself around her and pulled her into Maxine's side.

"Hush, it's alright now", the lieutenant murmured, her tone low and soothing.

It was only then that Cassandra noticed she was crying. And it only served to make her more miserable. What right did she have to sit in another company's CP and sob into an officer's shoulder when Esther was the one that had a bullet tear through her thigh?

"You were ambushed and had to carry your wounded friend who was in a lot of pain and losing blood."

 _Shit. Did I say it out loud?_

Cassandra sniffled and replied: "It's not the first time I had to drag a wounded soldier to cover."

"And it's not the first time I've lost one of my men", Maxine returned without missing a beat, "but sometimes, it just hits you harder."

Cassandra didn't really know what to say to that so she settled on a mute shrug.

 **.**

Thankfully, Maxine seemed to understand and didn't press the issue further. Instead, she reached to the side and pulled the radio over. "I'll just let Fox know where you're at", she said, checking the frequency. "Wouldn't want Audrey to worry, would we?"

A stupid smile settled on Cassandra's features. "Ray", she mumbled distractedly, nothing but fondness in her tone. "I love her, you know."

Maxine stilled. "I know, Cassandra. We all do."

She shook her head. "No, I mean …", she trailed off, breath catching in her throat.

"I know what you mean", Maxine spoke up, turning her head to regard her very seriously. "But you need to be careful."

Cassandra blinked, oscillating between confused and, irrationally, hurt. "Careful?", she asked, maybe a tad more defiant than she'd intended.

A sigh heaved Maxine's shoulders up before letting them slump back down. There was compassion in her knowing gaze and Cassandra could see her carefully measure her words before she said: "Look, I just don't want you to get hurt. You are both great people and I honestly don't see why your… feelings would change that, but others do."

The blonde looked away, ducked her head. "I know. I know. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for." Maxine squeezed her shoulder. "Just, promise me that you're careful?"

She managed a smile and nodded. "Promise."

* * *

Night fell once more, the temperatures dropping past freezing towards absolutely glacial. The snow had picked up again in the afternoon, gentle flurries turning into heavy drifts that swallowed what little visibility the fog had left them with.

Catherine massaged her temples as she shuffled past a smattering of foxholes. She'd developed a rather annoying headache five minutes into the meeting she'd had with Winters, Nixon and Dike. Their CO's pointless and nonsensical ramblings never failed to try her patience. Judging from the politely clipped way Winters had spoken to the alarmingly incapable man, he hadn't been too impressed either.

Blowing out a long breath that curled into grey vapor, the ranking medic crouched down at the lip of the foxhole she'd been looking for and lifted the tarp. "Mind some company?", she asked quietly.

The glare aimed at her chipped away to reveal frustrated guilt. Johnny shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She smiled sadly and slid inside. The tarp settled back against the snow with a soft rustle.

"What's eating you?" With Johnny, the direct approach always worked best.

He scowled at her. "Gee, Mom, I don't know?", he snarked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe that I had a kid bleed out right in front of me today on patrol?" His glare switched from frosty to heated.

"Or maybe that Babe screamed himself hoarse trying to get Julian to stop moving so the Krauts would stop firing? Or that we got no food, no winter clothing and only about seven rounds of ammo each? Or maybe the fact that our CO is a useless idiot that keeps disappearing to the fuck knows where?!"

Several more grievances joined the list that furiously spilled past Johnny's lips. Catherine listened quietly, meeting his famously piercing glare with unflinching steadiness.

 **.**

When the tirade wound down and he stared at her, expecting an indignant reaction to some of the more unfair things he'd just thrown at her, she just tilted her head and asked: "Feel any better?"

Begrudgingly, he nodded. "Yeah", he admitted reluctantly. "Kinda."

Catherine smiled. "Look, I know how hard it is", she said, leaning forward to rest her hands on her crossed legs. "Losing people, not being able to do anything to help them. But you need to remind yourself that it wasn't you who killed Julian."

"I should have noticed the enemy line", he muttered, frowning at the ground.

"In this weather? Johnny, it's a miracle if you can see more than two feet in this snow and fog."

"Yeah, well", he floundered, "I should have- I should have tried harder to reach him."

She shot him a look and pointed out: "You were under fire. You would have been dead before you got to him."

He threw up his hands in agitation, huffed out a breath. "I shouldn't have told Doc Roe to stay back." He was grasping at straws now, he knew that, but it was easier to feel guilty than accepting it for the random stroke of terrible luck, of 'wrong place, wrong time' it had been.

"Gene wouldn't have been able to help any more than you", Catherine said calmly, adding a gentle "You know that".

With a heavy sigh, Johnny deflated and hung his head. "Yeah. I… I know."

Silence settled over them as neither knew what more there was to say.

 **.**

Trying to get his mind off Julian, Johnny asked: "Louise back yet?"

Catherine shook her head. "No. But they're not overdue yet."

Late last night, their resident sniper and her preferred spotter, Ryan Gambrill, had been sent on a mission from HQ. With the current weather situation, Winters expected them to return early in the morning.

"Tell that to Liebgott", Johnny harrumphed. "He's been in a funk since mid-afternoon."

She shrugged. "He's worried."

"Yeah, no shit."

Catherine shifted. "I'll talk to him." She gave him a smile. "Try to get some rest, okay?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, but his "Okay, Mom" was completely without venom. The faint traces of a smile echoed in his tone.

Smiling softly at the fond moniker, the ranking medic climbed out of the foxhole and disappeared into the night.


	51. Chapter 51 - Fissures

**Hey guys! Finally, Friday evening.** **Work was chaotic and busy because of an extremely important project (where my team had to send 70 or 80 emails to about 50 people because the deadlines were shortened. Twice.) And the weather has been absolutely crazy all week (southerly winds blowing at up to 130 km/h and temperatures at 16 to 20 °C as opposed to 4 °C last Sunday).  
**

 **Sorry, I'll stop babbling now. The next chapter will be uploaded on the 3rd or 4th of January. So until then: Enjoy whichever holidays you celebrate or just have a lovely week if you don't celebrate any. Enjoy your time off if you have any. If you don't, I wish you a peaceful and pleasant time at work.**

 **Cheers and best wishes**

 **buxy**

* * *

 _23 December, 1944_

 _Bois Jacques, Bastogne, Belgium_

 _The weather is clearing up. But it's still freezing. I think it's even colder than yesterday. Everybody is cold and tired and miserable. The NCOs get even less sleep than the regular soldiers, the squad leaders and platoon sergeants least of all. And to make matters worse, the Germans seem to be taking perverse pleasure in shelling the crap out of us at night even more than during the day._

 _I'm ashamed to admit that I'm starting to lose track of how many we've already lost. Is it five? Fifteen? Fifty? I don't know anymore. Too many. And we'll lose more, of that I'm certain. If the weather doesn't clear up soon, we'll all die, even if we aren't killed by the bullets and shells. Those that don't succumb to illness will just starve or simply freeze to death. Either way, without supplies, we won't be able to hold the line for much longer._

 _I should stop being so pessimistic. We've made it through Normandy and Holland, we'll make it through this particular hell, too. But this oppressive whiteness that surrounds us drives away my positive thoughts. I can't even enjoy the sight of snow anymore. I'm afraid the joy I used to feel at this gorgeous wonder of nature will now forever be replaced by haunted dislike._

 _Two years ago, I experienced snow for the first time in my life. It seems like an eternity ago. I remember gaping at the soft, white layer that blanketed everything outside, marvelling at the snowflakes dancing in the wind as they flurried from the sky. Everything seemed quiet and muffled as it snowed. Peaceful._

 _I also distinctly recall my first snowball fight that day. I got hit smack-dab in the face by one of the snow missiles curtesy of Shifty. (The sweet boy kept apologising for days, bless him!) And Muck shoved a whole handful of snow down my collar. I think I screeched loud enough to raise the dead._

 _Well...maybe the joyous miracle of snow isn't completely tainted for all eternity. That was the gloom of our situation talking, I suppose. Gwen and Tommy would_ adore _the snow. And they'd have snowball fights as wild and mischievous as the ones we had._

 _Good grief, I just pictured my two moppets playing in the snow with the horde of rambunctious rascals I call my friends and comrades. There would be lots of fun, of course, but also quite a lot of squealing and cussing (the guys, of course, though my kids are – unfortunately, in this case – very quick studies) and most likely snow in places it really doesn't belong._

Catherine closed her diary and tucked away the pencil stub she was writing with. Blowing out a sigh, she heaved herself up, limbs stiff and uncooperative from the cold. She tugged her scarf up towards her nose and vigorously rubbed her hands together in an effort to generate a meagre bit of warmth before she climbed out of the foxhole and went to get herself a portion of whatever Joe Domingus had cooked up today.

 _Probably beans again_ , she thought to herself, pulling a face. Not that she could afford to be picky. Sustenance was sustenance and Joe clearly did his best to make what little he had to work with last.

Shudders spasmed through her and Catherine found herself longing for the warm climate of home, for the feeling of sun and seafoam on her skin, for the shimmering heat of a midsummer afternoon on the beach.

 **.**

A few minutes later, the mother of two sat on a log twice the size of her thigh, poking listlessly at the rapidly cooling and solidifying gloop in her mug. Her teeth chattered like a stalling engine and her throat hurt.

"You look miserable."

She raised her head and responded drily: "And hello to you too, Skip." The corners of her mouth curled up despite her pessimistic mood.

Skip's eyebrow cocked in appreciation of her sarcasm and planted himself down next to her. "Hello Mom", he said, not fazed by the look she shot him, "you look miserable."

She made a noise that was somewhere between a chortle and a harrumph. "You don't look too glorious yourself."

He made a big show of feigning hurt, clutching a hand dramatically to his chest. "Malark, you hear this?", he gasped, twisting in his seat. "Mom says I don't look glorious."

"Truth hurts, Muck", came the grinning response, underlined by an unsympathetic shrug.

"I'll have you know, I always look glorious, thank you very much." Muck sniffed haughtily, turning back around. "I can't help it if you philistines can't appreciate real beauty."

Catherine chuckled. "'Philistines', hm? Did Maxine teach you that one?", she teased, abandoning her meal in favour of rifling through her countless pockets.

He stared at her, his amazement only partly an act. "Damn, Mom, did Jess and Louise give you lessons in how to crush a guy with words?"

The genuinely impressed tone of his voice elicited a laugh from her. "I'm sorry, Skip", she said, "you know I don't mean it." She finally found what she had been looking for in one of her leg pockets.

 **.**

Skip grinned, off-handedly dismissing the apology with a flap of his hand, and opened his mouth to offer a cheeky retort.

Only to pause mid-action, humour morphing into puzzlement on his features before it shifted more towards a curious hodgepodge of mild concern and amusement.

He blinked, closed his mouth. Opened it again.

"I thought you didn't smoke?"

Catherine looked up from the cigarette that she'd just lit and brought to her lips. She shrugged and took another drag, trying to ignore the ashen taste and instead relishing the glimmer of warmth it provided.

"I'm cold, Skip", she replied with a dry smile. "Freezing, actually." Her smile tilted and she quirked her head. "And since we're clearly in Hell already, I figured I might as well keep warm."

There was a beat of silence while her words sunk in. Then, Muck cracked up.

"Ha!", he crowed, raising his canteen in a salute, "That's a good one, Mom. We're all gonna die anyways, so we should at least get comfy for it."

She fondly rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head with a huffed laugh. "Eat your food, Muck", she chided good-naturedly around the cigarette and got to her feet. "It's already turning into a popsicle."

* * *

The laughter of the assembled soldiers followed the young woman as she walked away, vapour and smoke mingling in the wispy coils of her breath meeting the frigid air.

Her smile faded as quickly as the cigarette's temporary burst of warmth. Oh, how she wished she could share Skip's ability to laugh in the face of adversity, to derive honest cheer from gallows humour.

Instead, she was too busy putting on a brave face, reassuring the frightened and comforting those in pain. She had a battered company of hungry, exhausted and ill-equipped men to look after without even the most basic supplies. Sickness spread like a wildfire and artillery attacks drove up the number of casualties, leaving her high-strung with tension, cold and lack of sleep.

At least – and Catherine hated how selfishly glad she was about this – she didn't have to bear the brunt of the emotional labour involved in soothing the ubiquitous frustration about their incompetent and mostly inexplicably absent CO. That task was shared by Lipton and Maxine in equal measure. Everybody in Easy respected them and they both had the same loyal integrity to the company.

 **.**

"Hey Mom", Theresa greeted her on the way back from the slit trench that served as their latrine. Her clever brown eyes studied her and narrowed a fraction. "What is it?"

Catherine made to wave it off out of habit, but stopped herself. Theresa had already noticed that something was bothering her, denying it wouldn't deter the other woman. So she admitted: "I'm worried."

That in and of itself wasn't too surprising, after all, Catherine was ranking medic of a company that was stuck holding the line in a forest in the middle of winter with hardly more than the clothes on their back. So Theresa figured there was more to it.

"About what?", she asked, falling into step with her friend.

Catherine ran a hand through her hair. "Battle fatigue", she said, frowning at the flurries of snow tumbling from the sky. The fog was nowhere near as heavy as it had been the past few days.

"Battle fatigue", Theresa echoed pensively, lips pursing in that particular way they always did when she was thinking about a serious issue. "Anyone in particular?"

The Hawaiian nodded grimly, biting her lip.

"Buck?"

She nodded again. "Yeah."

Theresa hummed a short acknowledgement, adjusted the strap of her rifle where it ran across her shoulder. "He hasn't been the same since he came back", she observed, keeping her voice neutral but quiet. "Whether it was getting wounded or the stay in the hospital... it left its mark on him."

"Mhm. And this damn forest isn't helping", Catherine agreed, kicking up a spray of snow as frustration overwhelmed her. She huffed out a breath and rolled her shoulders that ached from the tension and cold. Taking another breath to collect herself, she continued, tone even again: "But it's not just Lt. Compton."

"Who?" Theresa tried to think of anyone else she had noticed acting particularly unlike their usual self. They were all stressed and exhausted, which made it hard to discern where 'tired and miserable' ended and 'numb and at the end of my rope' began.

"Mia."

 **.**

The quiet admission had Theresa stunned for a long moment.

"Did you just say Mia?", she questioned, wondering, hoping that she had misheard her friend.

Catherine's pained, _worried_ expression was confirmation enough. "I feel like she's withdrawing more and more", the ranking medic confided.

Theresa frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It's just a feeling", Catherine said with a helpless shrug. "I can't put my finger on it."

The squad sergeant mustered a smile and rubbed her friend's shoulder. "I'm sure she's going to be alright, she's nothing if not resilient. You know Mia."

A sad huff worked its way past Catherine's throat. "And that's what worries me", she sighed. "You know how good she is at hiding her emotions, her pain. What if-" - she threw up her hands, then shoved them through the tangled mess that was her hair – "What if I recognise that she's slipping only when it's too late, Reese?"

Theresa patiently waited until the frazzled woman had gotten the nagging doubts and fears off her chest, taking a moment to think about the situation before replying.

"You're right, Mom", she began. "Mia is scary good at putting on a smile and pretending to be fine. But she's also smart. Smart enough to know that she can't properly care for the rest of us if she neglects her own health." Her lips quirked into a little conspiratorial smile. "Plus, you and I both know there's a number of people in this battalion that will make sure she looks after herself."

The ranking medic sighed, head dipping down in acknowledgement. "I know, Reese", she said softly. "I know."

"But it doesn't help", Theresa nodded matter-of-factly. Reason and emotion were often two separate things and sometimes, no matter how logical the facts were, the heart couldn't be quite appeased.

Catherine dredged up a smile and nudged her with her shoulder. "Still... thank you."

 **.**

They walked towards the foxholes of first platoon.

"How's your squad", Catherine wanted to know, shoving her hands deep into her pockets.

"Grumpy." Theresa shook her head, something akin to amused annoyance dancing in her tone. "I wonder what I did to have so many irritable people under my command." Chief among them Cobb and Jessica. Although- "Liebgott's been prickly since last night."

They shared a look. They both knew that his foul mood mainly stemmed from his worry for their sniper, who had been sent on a scouting mission and was, as of two hours ago, late.

"But so far, there haven't been any issues", Theresa added for the sake of looking at the bright side.

* * *

She was forced to revise her statement ten minutes later when she was confronted by an irate Liebgott, who demanded: "Where the fuck is Louise?"

Recognising that telling him off for his tone and attitude wouldn't go over well, the Nebraskan took a measured breath. "I don't know, Joe", she told him. "They should be on their way back."

He glared at her. "She should've been back _last night!_ "

"They were due to report back this morning", Theresa replied calmly, by now experienced in dealing with volatile tempers. "The weather probably delayed them."

"Or they ran into a trigger-happy Kraut like Bowman and Jessup yesterday!", he argued back, an odd strain in his voice.

Theresa blew out a soft sigh. She understood him. She felt the same worry twisting in her stomach, had the same uncertainty rattling around in her mind. "Joe, do you really think Louise Fields would go down without a fight? She would tell off Death for interrupting her."

A huff, almost a snort of laughter, slipped past Liebgott's throat. His grim mien shifted to accommodate a reluctant, but fond, smirk.

Pleased to have brought him slightly out of his snappish mood, the sergeant nevertheless promised to ask Captain Winters if there were any news.

Slightly appeased, Liebgott nodded and walked with her when she headed towards their foxholes.

 **.**

"Hey, did ya know, Geraghty had a crush on Frances?", he asked, a smug grin spreading on his face. Gossip was a valuable thing in this company, the currency of long cold nights and boring shifts on watch.

Theresa's eyebrows rose. "Hmm", she made, amused how he could go from fierce soldier to mischievous schoolboy within the span of mere minutes. "And what makes you think that?"

He shrugged, trying and failing to feign innocence, before telling his squad leader how Geraghty had admitted to his infatuation over a game of poker they'd held in their barracks one night.

They'd gambled for toothpicks before Luz – _of course it was Luz's idea_ , Theresa thought to herself – had suggested playing for 'secrets' where the winner of each round was allowed to ask one person a personal question.

The story of Frances' improvised smoke bomb on D-Day had spread rapidly across regiments and divisions. The replacements had heard about it as soon as they had learned of their future placement in Easy. Geraghty had apparently been awed by the woman's ingenuity and quick thinking, though his crush had gradually disappeared after a while.

Theresa gave a non-committal hum. "So that's what you do on your nights off?", she teased. "Share gossip like a bunch of old biddies over tea?"

"What? Like you haven't done the same", he defended.

She grinned and said: "Oh no, we mainly just sit around and compare notes on lipstick and stockings."

Liebgott let out a snort of laughter at the thought of the girls, especially someone like ever-practical Frances or down-to-earth Audrey, finding such topics the height of stimulating conversation.

* * *

At the same time, the wayward sniper-spotter tandem showed up at headquarters, both of them soaked to the bone, their uniforms frozen stiff. Ryan Gambrill's fingers showed first signs of frostbite and he had a slit down his tongue curtesy of his uncontrollably chattering teeth. Louise was in a similar state with blue-tinted lips and a wheezing cough, shivering so badly that she looked almost blurry.

Al Mampre, the medic assigned to HQ, cursed fervently and ushered them inside. "Get me some blankets!", he hollered to a private on the way past. "As many you can find! And a basin of warm water and whatever hot drink you can get your hands on!"

"W-wouldn't s-say n-no to a c-cuppa", Louise breathed out through the tremors spasming through her stomach muscles.

Ryan choked on a sound that might have been a laugh, though it sounded more like a pained grunt.

Muttering heatedly about stupid bigwigs with a callous disregard for the well-being of their subordinates, Mampre herded the hypothermic duo into the lounge the upper brass liked to use as their war room. There was a fireplace in there. A fire would make getting these two soldiers warmed up a lot easier.

 **.**

Two privates delivered a bundle of blankets – not clean, but dry, that was the important part. One of them also carried some firewood and quickly set about lighting a fire. The other immediately spun around to rush back out the door, tossing a promise of finding a hot drink over his shoulder.

Mampre hardly acknowledged it. He was focused on his patients, helping them out of their snow- and ice-caked clothes. Gambrill had stopped shivering, which in this case was a good sign. He was still much too pale and slightly sluggish, but his harsh breathing started to ease. Louise, though trembling violently, had managed to free her uncoordinated limbs from her outer layers.

The fire flared to life and the young, gangly private turned around. Only to let out a squeak like a squeezed hamster, face and neck flaming red. "Oh", he stammered, tongue-tied in his embarrassment, and hurriedly averting his eyes. "S-sorry Ma'am."

Louise, who had stripped to her thermal underwear, arched a brow. "Don't be rid-diculous", she huffed, "'s not like I'm s-starkers."

"Samole", Mampre spoke up, drawing the flustered man's attention away from the sniper who proceeded to pull her long-sleeved undershirt over her head, "go tell Armento to get on the horn with Easy Company. They'll want to know their guys are back."

Samole nodded gratefully and fled the room, blush still glowing hot on his face.

Just as he rushed out, Private Robert Larsen swept inside with two steaming mugs in one hand, a basin with warm water in the other. "Here", he said, "that'll warm you up." Seeing as both patients were still working on getting out of their frozen uniforms, he handed the basin to Mampre.

 **.**

The two shivering soldiers were sat down by the fire, swaddled in blankets. Ryan was encouraged to submerge his frost-bitten fingers in the warm water and Larsen brought over the mugs, setting them down within easy reach.

Louise poked a hand out from her cocoon of blankets and picked up one of them to take a sip. Her eyes widened and she sputtered, nearly dropping the mug as a series of coughs shook her.

"Blimey", she wheezed out, giving the steaming liquid an appreciative nod. "I didn't expect hot whiskey."

Pulling his left hand from the water bath, Ryan brought his own mug to his lips for an eager gulp.

Mampre quickly stopped him before he could down the whole drink in one go, though. "Hey hey hey! I don't need you passing out, Sergeant!", he reminded the thawing spotter with a stern look.

Larsen snickered as hegathered the discarded uniforms and spread them out near the fire to dry.


	52. Chapter 52 - Out of Control

**Happy New Year, folks! I wish you all happiness and good health.**

 **So, I was writing this chapter and it kind of went in a slightly different direction than I had originally planned. It sort of just wrote itself and then I had this moment like 'oh no, I made myself cry.'**

 **Anyways, I apologise in advance and hope you still like the chapter.**

* * *

Louise was checking her rifle for frost damage, sitting cross-legged by the fire, when they heard it. Their heads snapped up and they shared a glance of confused, hesitant hope. To paratroopers, there was no mistaking that sound.

"Those are C-47s." Disbelief coloured her tone. Could it really be?

Mampre slowly nodded his head, staring distantly at the puddle of melted snow surrounding the drying uniforms. "I think we're dreaming", he mumbled.

 **.**

They weren't dreaming. Just like the men and women out on the line weren't, though at first they couldn't quite believe their eyes either. The weather had finally cleared sufficiently for the planes to navigate accurately enough. In just over four hours, 241 planes dropped 144 tons of supplies to the besieged soldiers holding Bastogne.

Even many years later, Louise would be able to recall the exact moment it had properly sunk in with her that this wasn't some hypothermia-induced spectre. 11:51 a.m., 23 December, 1944. To her dying day, she would remember the huge bubble of relief swelling in her chest at the sight of hundreds and hundreds of brightly coloured parachute canopies filling the sky over Bastogne.

* * *

It was easy to get a jeep back to the line. Laden with supplies – mainly ammo and winter clothing – they arrived at Easy's stretch of the line under the cheer of the men.

"Well look who decided to show up!", Luz called.

"What took you so long?", Guarnere demanded, smirk growing as he gave her shoulder a friendly shove. "Got lost on your way home?"

She tsked and shoved back. "Oh ye of little faith." The big grin on her face negated any indignation her words might have held.

After many slaps on the back and jokes about showing up late, Louise extricated herself from the cheerful welcoming party so she could report to Captain Winters. "Make yourselves useful instead of just wasting air", she said, motioning to the supplies. "This stuff doesn't distribute itself, you know?"

 **.**

At the battalion CP, Winters and Nixon greeted her with the same air of relief as the rest of the company.

"It's good to see you", Nixon said.

"Thank you, sir." She smothered a burst of coughing in the crook of her elbow.

"Are you alright, Fields?", Winters asked, his light eyes studying her intently.

"Yes sir."

Shifting her weight and tucking her hands under her armpits, Louise began her report. They had been sent to scout the terrain, find the enemy line and eliminate the sniper they knew the Krauts had somewhere on that stretch of the line. Preferably without being spotted and while taking out as many enemy soldiers as possible.

"The mission resulted in 9 confirmed kills, sir. Including two snipers", she finished.

Nixon's eyebrows shot up. "Two snipers?", he repeated sharply.

The Brit confirmed. "Yes sir. That's why we were delayed. I couldn't dispatch the first sniper without revealing our position to the second one."

Their intelligence officer grumbled something about unreliable intel under his breath while Winters asked how she had solved that issue.

"I gave us away", Louise said blankly. "Sergeant Gambrill could hardly hold the binoculars anymore and I was losing focus due to the–" She broke off as a coughing fit clawed up her throat.

Nixon held out a canteen, which she accepted gratefully.

Clearing her throat, she picked up the thread again: "–due to the cold. So last night, when the first sniper left his perch, I took the shot. The second sniper missed and because his muzzle flash gave him away, I was able to neutralise him, too."

Their revered former CO dipped his head in acknowledgment of the skill and bravery involved in that feat, offering a sincere: "Good work. Glad to have you back, Louise."

Stiffness drained from her spine at his use of her first name. This wasn't just Captain Winters, her superior talking to her now, it was Dick, her friend and brother-in-arms since Toccoa days. "Thanks. Glad to be back, sir."

And she was. Louise didn't really know how to describe it, but it felt easier to breathe here, surrounded by her friends. She was fine going on solo or tandem missions with Ryan, but it settled her nerves to be with her company.

 **.**

Dike wasn't around, which came as no surprise to her, but Lt Welsh cheerfully welcomed her back and assigned her to First Platoon for the time being.

"Sergeant Martin's guys took a licking yesterday", he said, a sombre expression replacing his impish grin. "He's gonna be glad for your help."

Perconte quickly got her caught up on everything she'd missed when they walked to First's foxholes together. Artillery barrages, Skinny getting wounded, Esther getting shot, a combat patrol resulting in one fatality, one casualty and one extremely upset Babe Heffron, Liebgott biting peoples' heads off for no reason…

"I think he was in a stink 'cause he couldn't argue with you", he commented off-handedly.

Louise huffed a wheezing chuckle. It wouldn't be first time they fought for the sake of it, plus bickering and trading insults was admittedly a rather good way to blow off some steam.

They didn't fight. Or even bicker. They snarked back and forth to pretend not to notice the easing tightness around the others' mouth and eyes. They groused about Dike and speculated on just what the man did during those prolonged periods of time when he wasn't to be found.

And if they huddled a little closer under the blanket that night, nobody was any the wiser.

* * *

On Christmas Eve, the Germans ramped up the pressure. As night greyed into day, a line of tanks rumbled through the trees across the open field that was no man's land, plumes of white snow dust trailing behind them.

Ana María, reading her rifle, grumbled about them "having no respect for God and His holidays".

"Eyes sharp!", Lt Shames could be heard hollering further down the line.

Jessica glanced at Mercier beside her and rolled her eyes. "Fucking hard to miss the Krauts like this."

"Hold your fire", Lipton ordered as he rushed by, "don't let them draw you out."

The first shells came flying, hitting dirt and wood with resounding booms that knotted in their stomachs.

"Hold your fire", Theresa repeated.

Jessica wondered absently how her sergeant kept her voice so steady and firm. With all the adrenaline buzzing through her, she herself was already having trouble keeping her leg from jiggling. She felt like a rabbit in headlights, trapped and vulnerable. And she absolutely hated it.

Another tank shell zoomed in and blew up a fountain of dirt.

 _If they keep this up, we're gonna be sitting and waiting here all day_ , the blonde Marylander thought, face pulling into a grimace when someone shouted for a medic somewhere off to their right. She turned her head and opened her mouth to relay that thought to Mercier.

She never got around to it because in that moment, something punched her in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer.

 **.**

The wind solidly driven out of her, Jessica stumbled and fell back against hard earth, dazedly questioning why the Krauts would throw sledgehammers. Then, the fuzzy numbness gave way to excruciating pain. A cacophony of screaming voices filled her ears. It took her a while to realise that the incoherent, wordless one was hers.

"MEDIC!"

Mercier was the other person screaming, Jessica noted sluggishly. Her pain-addled mind registered with disgusted confusion that something warm and sticky was seeping down her torso. Her lungs hurt and she still hadn't caught her breath.

She coughed, which only increased the searing agony pulsing through her chest. _Did I catch a cold?_ She heard a rather panicked "Oh fuck!" from her left as she grimaced at the strange coppery tang filling her mouth.

Strong hands yanked her up and backwards, making her vision go white with pain. She screamed, although in reality, it was only a choked groan that made it past her lips. Her back met snow and she saw bare treetops and snatches of grey sky. A face swam into view and Jessica frowned. What was Doc Arricante doing here, leaning into her space like that? Something shifted in her side and holy _shit_ that hurt!

The Doc's lips were moving and she figured that she should maybe try and listen because if the quiet medic was talking, it must be important.

"Easy, Jess, try to breathe. The pain's going to get better soon."

Jessica coughed again and caught sight of something red spraying up. _Oh_. Her throat seized, trapping the breath she was taking on its way down as the realisation sank in. She was bleeding. She was hurt. She was coughing up blood.

 _I'm gonna die._

Panic hit.

 **.**

Mia couldn't dodge the flailing limbs as Jessica fought them, a look of sheer terror on her mud- and blood-speckled face. An erratic hand clipped her chin just before Mercier could catch it.

"Stay still", she said, "you have to stay still. It's okay."

The blonde shook her head frantically, panting turning into wheezing and another bout of choking coughs. "I'm gonna die!", she cried, struggling against Mercier's hold. "I'm gonna die!"

The ground shook as the Germans hurled more artillery their way. Machine guns spewed salve upon salve in response, mortars hitting metal with crumpling clangs. The two crouching soldiers ducked as branches and pieces of bark rained down on them.

"I don't wanna die today", Jessica babbled, her coughs now weak half-sobs. "I can't."

Mercier shot an anxious glance towards the line. "We gotta hurry, Doc", he said.

Mia nodded. A large wad of gauze in her hand, she bunched it around the pieces of metal jutting out from the riflewoman's chest and pushed down. Hard.

Jessica's hysteric cries pitched into a back-arching scream before they turned into a slew of sobbing curses and insult.

Mia didn't react to any of them, too busy trying to keep her patient's blood and insides where they belonged.

 **.**

They heard a jeep. Mercier sprang up, running to intercept it.

Mia tied off the last bandage and they hauled Jessica up from the ground, neither sparing her whimpering groan more than an apologetic thought. They got the wounded woman settled and while Mercier rushed back to the line, Mia jumped in.

"Go!", she called to the driver over Jessica's hacking coughs and sounds of misery.

He floored the pedal.

* * *

 _I can't die today_. The thought kept ricocheting around her head, pounding against her skull in time with the fiery pain clawing into her upper body. Every bump and hole the jeep went over drove spikes of pure agony through her.

"Careful!", she heard a familiar accented voice snap.

Jessica wrenched her eyes open. In the two years she had known the reticent woman, she had only heard that sharp tone once or twice.

The ride became smoother.

Jessica shivered and coughed again. It felt like something tore in her stomach with each cough. A splash of blood bubbled past her teeth and dribbled down her chin, leaving an icky, rapidly cooling trail.

"Mia?"

The Doc's given name slipped out before she could think about it. It sounded small and shaky, but Jessica was too scared and in too much pain to truly care.

The messy-haired brunette looked up, the startled expression only a fleeting hitch in her serious face.

Jessica understood the surprise. She mostly called her 'Doc' when they spoke, which wasn't all that often. They had never really gotten along, Jessica put off by Mia's quietness and shifty eyes while her own sharp tongue formed snarky jokes at the medic's expense far too frequently for them to be close, let alone friends.

 **.**

"Yes?", Mia prompted carefully when she stayed silent for too long.

She blinked and tried to remember what she had wanted to tell the woman whose hands were stained bright with blood. Her blood. "I don't wanna die today", she whispered. Her eyes stung, her vision turned watery.

Mia's lips, chapped and cracked, pulled into a sympathetic, gentle smile. "You'll be okay."

"No." She needed to make her understand. She didn't know why it was important, but she needed Mia to understand. "No, I _can't_ die today. I can't." _God, why am I so out of breath?_ "It's Fabian's birthday."

Blue met grey and Jessica sagged a little at the understanding she saw in those deep, guarded eyes.

"You'll be alright", Mia said quietly, barely audible over the whistle of the wind.

She inhaled, grimacing at how much effort it took. There was a crushing weight on her chest now. Weirdly enough, it was taking away some of the pain. "Everything hurts", she said.

Or at least, that's what she meant to say. It came out as a slurred mess of syllables that sounded more like "Ev'ryth'n h'rts".

However, Mia seemed to understand it anyways. "I know", she replied with another one of her soft, enigmatic smiles. "It'll get better soon, the morphine just needs a little time to work."

 _Funny_ , Jess thought. _I don't remember getting stuck with a syrette_. But the pain was duller now, so it must be working, even if breathing was still really hard.

She closed her eyes. It was taking too much effort to keep them open.

 **.**

"Jessica?"

She gave a vague grunt and brought up another mouthful of blood. "'m ti'ed."

"I know. Get some rest."

Jessica hummed. That sounded like a fine idea. She'd just rest her eyes a little.

 _Sleep is a good healer, Róża._ A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. That's what her mother used to say when she'd been sick as a child. Sleep. Yeah, she could sleep _. And dream of home. That'll make me feel better in no time._

* * *

Gene stumbled out of the aid station, his feet propelling him forward without conscious thought. His body felt heavy and leaden, his very soul weary of the constant death and destruction. Heaving a sigh, he looked around for a jeep that would take him back to Easy.

Instead, he caught sight of a familiar mop of hair. The frown that was seemingly permanently fused into his features nowadays deepened.

Sitting on the rubble of a destroyed wall, shoulders hunched and body curled in on itself, Mia looked small and despondent. Even her hair, which was still a mess of cowlicks despite the longest strands now curling by her ears, was comparatively limp. She stared at her hands as she kept scrubbing at the dried blood caking them.

Figuring that misery shared was misery lessened, the Cajun made his way over to his friend. In the pale light of the day, the dark circles under her eyes looked like bruises, her face hollow and thin.

She didn't look up when he sat down beside her. The only sign of her registering his presence was a slight turn of her head towards him. Her eyes stayed fixed on her hands.

 **.**

A jeep hurtled down the road to the aid station. Neither of the two Easy medics moved. It delivered the men it was carrying, turned around and drove off again. The bustle of the town filled to burst with wounded seemed oddly muffled to Gene as they sat in their small bubble of abject exhaustion.

"Smokey's paralysed." The words came out flat and monotonous. Matching the numbness clouding his mind.

Mia's shoulders moved with a breath, curving inwards a fraction more. "Jessica's dead."

It should have shocked him. It should have.

It didn't.

"Her brother has his birthday today", his friend continued.

They shared a dim-eyed look. Gene sighed and gave her knee a gentle squeeze. She sniffed and leant her head against his shoulder. Dirt-crusted strands tickled his cheek as he rested it atop her head.

There was nothing to say, so they stayed silent.

* * *

It was a silent pair of medics that returned from Bastogne. Silent and weary. They couldn't find Lt Dike, though they didn't really go to great lengths to look for the man.

Lipton met them, his quiet concern warm and compassionate as he promised to pass on their report. "I'll inform Theresa", he offered.

Mia shook her head, pulling in a breath and straightening. "It's okay. I'll do it." She paused, expression shifting briefly. "Can you tell Catherine?"

The First Sergeant nodded, a tight smile in the corners of his mouth. "No problem, Doc."

 **.**

Theresa's eyebrows furrowed speculatively when Mia approached her, hands shoved deep into her pockets, and asked for a word. They stepped out of hearing range of the foxholes. The curious gazes of the men followed them, prickling at the backs of their necks.

"What is it, Mia?", Theresa prompted, taking in the medic's worn-out expression. "How's Jess?"

A small shake of the head. "She didn't make it."

The sergeant took a step back, swallowed hard. "What?"

"Jessica's dead, Reese", Mia said, sad compassion in the lines of her face. "I'm sorry."

No. It couldn't be. There had to be some kind of mistake. Theresa pulled in a breath and nodded, squaring her shoulder. "I'm sure you did everything you could."

Thin shoulders twitched with a silent sigh, head dipping down. "It wasn't enough."

"Still, thank you. I know you two didn't like each other."

Mia shrugged. "Yeah. But I didn't want her to die."

"No, no, that's not- God, I didn't mean-", Theresa stammered, horrified by what she'd accidentally implied. "I didn't mean it like that."

The younger woman's lips pursed into the sad caricature of a soft smile. "I know, Reese", she said gently. "I know."

 **.**

Theresa cleared her throat against the lump lodged there. Her chest was too tight all of a sudden, her stomach in knots.

"I… I'll be right back", she managed. "I just need a moment."

Mia squeezed her forearm, her big blue eyes kind and knowing, before she pulled back.

After a short glance towards the foxhole, Theresa fled into the privacy of the forest, hands trembling and eyes stinging.

* * *

Blood roared in her ears as Theresa came to a stop. Tears were already streaming down her face, burning hot on her cold cheeks. They soaked into her upturned collar and the scarf Catherine had given her a few days ago.

She paced, turning in a circle as she tried to make sense of the situation. _Why?_ , she kept asking herself. _Why Jessica? Why today of all days?!_ Her jaw tightened, her fingers curling into fists. _Why me?!_

"How many more do I have to lose, huh?!", she screamed at the air, voice breaking halfway through. "How many?!"

The forest remained silent, the trees disinterested, passive spectators.

She sniffled. "I never should have signed up." Her legs buckled and she dropped to her knees, hardly feeling the bite of snow through her pants. "I never should have joined the Airborne. I should have stayed at home."

 **.**

Sobs wracked her body, stealing her breath and turning her stomach. Choking on her grief, she gasped for air that wouldn't reach her lungs while tears blinded her. Each sob ached as it tore along the length of her throat.

And suddenly, she was retching. Doubled over on all fours, she heaved up the meagre rations she'd forced down that morning. Her upper body shook as her diaphragm and stomach convulsed with sobs and dry heaves.

She spat out a mouthful of bile and blinked away a teardrop that had clung to her eyelashes. It dripped down into the snow, disappearing in the cold, white powder.

"I wanna go home", she whimpered to the surrounding trees. "I wanna go home."

 **.**

When she could finally breathe again, Theresa sat back on her haunches. Sniffling, she wiped the snow off her hands and blew her nose. She took a shuddering breath and scrubbed a sleeve across her cheeks.

"Pull yourself together, Theresa", she said to herself, her firm tone wavering and tearstained. "You're no use to anyone if you fall apart."

She stood, shook away the snow clinging to legs of her trousers. Another breath, this one already steadier. For lack of cold water, she splashed her face with a handful of snow, carefully wiping it off again so it wouldn't seep down below her collar.

She exhaled, straightened her jacket and raised her chin. She had to keep it together, for the sake of her squad.


	53. Chapter 53 - Christmas Eve

**Hey guys, how are you all doing? I'm sorry for not updating yesterday or the day before like I promised... I was slightly overwhelmed with real life and completely forgot about this. I hope you can forgive me?**

 **Let me know how you liked the chapter, I'm not quite sure what to think of it yet.**

* * *

When Colonel Sink visited Easy Company in the afternoon of Christmas Eve and talked about the brass sitting down to Christmas dinner of turkey and hooch at the Division CP, Ana María considered walking away. She didn't want to hear about the bigwigs sitting in cushy buildings and getting to have a feast when they were stuck out here in the snow with nothing but gravelly beans.

"Men", the colonel spoke up, allowing himself a rare smile when multiple voices carolled: "And women!".

"…and women", he amended, inclining his head. "General McAuliffe wishes us all a 'Merry Christmas'."

 _Merry?_ Ana María crossed her arms tighter in front of her chest.

Sink continued to read the message, capturing the attention of the gathered men and women. Or at least most of them. "What's merry about this, you ask? Just this: We've stopped cold everything that's been thrown at us from the North, East, South and West.

Ana María's dark gaze moved away from the colonel, travelling over to where Frances stood in the background, unusually distanced from the crowd. The North Carolinian's naturally upturned corners of her mouth that looked like they smiled all the time – much like a dolphin – were drooping, her generally cheerful and lively expression replaced by a cloudy frown.

"Now, two days ago, the German commander demanded our honourable surrender to save the U.S.A. encircled troops from total annihilation. The German commander received the following reply: 'To the German commander: Nuts!'"

Chuckles drifted through the air. Frances' lips didn't even twitch.

"We're giving our country and our loved ones at home a worthy Christmas present, and being privileged to take part in this gallant feat of arms, we're truly making ourselves a Merry Christmas."

 _'Being privileged'? 'Gallant feat of arms'?_ Ana María quelled a sarcastic laugh that bubbled in her gut. _¡Son pendejadas!_ She saw her own disbelief mirrored on Frances' face. Brows furrowed, jaw set, her friend looked disgusted and angry.

"Merry Christmas to you all and God bless you", Colonel Sink finished his short speech.

He didn't notice two women leaving their respective positions, one leaning against a tree, the other in the back of the cluster of now cheering and chattering soldiers. Nor did anyone else for that matter, apart from Captain Winters, whose watchful eyes followed the retreating figures until Nixon claimed his attention.

* * *

Frances didn't have the kind of personality that took well to people trying to downplay her misery.

When her mother had died, relatives and acquaintances would come up to her and tell her that it wasn't as bad as it seemed. "You still have your family", they'd say. "You'll be okay."

Even at the tender age of five, Frances had angrily retorted that she knew that but it didn't feel that way. "Life's shit right now!", she had yelled at Great Aunt Marjorie on one very notable occasion, thoroughly scandalising the patronising woman.

Trudging through the forest in a foul mood, she made a half-hearted effort to remind herself that the General wanted to boost morale. That it was his job to write messages that blathered about honour and glory and gallantry.

It didn't help.

 **.**

Toye looked up in surprise when the young woman slid into his foxhole, her features twisted into an unhappy scowl. Why she had sought him out he didn't know, but here they were now and he really saw no point in arguing about it.

"Apparently, we're privileged to take part in a gallant feat of arms", Frances announced without preamble, tone spiked with sarcasm.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Really? Who came up with that bullshit?"

Her nose scrunched in distaste, her fingers rifling through her worn deck of cards. "General McAuliffe. You should've heard his message." She shook her head with a scoff. "Easy for him to say, he doesn't have to sit in a damn foxhole and get the living shit shelled out of him." A card danced up into the air, merged back into the moving pile.

Toye listened silently as Frances' frustration spilled out in a flow of unbridled snark and watched as she manipulated the cards, hands running through the motions seemingly without conscious thoughts. It seemed to calm her. The furrow of her brows eased, the muscles in her jaw relaxed.

"Your Uncle taught you that, right?", he asked eventually, using a natural lull in the conversation to change the topic. It wouldn't do them any good to linger on their stress, fear and helplessness for too long.

A fond smile appeared on her lips, smoothing the hard lines of her frown. "Yeah. Him and the rest of Mom's family and friends." She plucked the Ace of Hearts from the deck without looking, shuffled it back into the pile, and picked it out of the stack again.

"They teach you how to cheat at cards, too?" The sly smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth told her that he was curious and not accusing.

She nodded. "Yep. Uncle Archie thinks that it's only half as much fun to play a game than to cheat at it." She fanned the cards.

"You think so too?", Toye wondered.

"Sometimes", Frances admitted readily. "Cheating is fun" – that earned her a snort of amusement – "but", she continued, shrugging her shoulders in nonchalance, "I only fleece assholes. I see it more as… managing the game."

 **.**

While Toye helped Frances return to herself by letting her ramble about ways to cheat at different games, Ana María had made it back to her own foxhole and was staring at the opposite wall of dirt in a desperate bid to think positive thoughts. Tears pooled at the rims of her eyes. She blinked. New ones gathered. She vigorously wiped them away.

Irene, killed during the drop on D-Day. Elizabeth and Helen, their planes shot down. Kathleen, too badly wounded for Mia to do anything but keep her company when she found her the day after the jump into Normandy. And now Jessica, dead after getting struck by shrapnel.

 _Will they be remembered?_ , she questioned in the privacy of her mind. _Will anyone remember us?_ She dismissed the idea that they would all be forgotten as ludicrous. Stories were circulating, had been since basic training. There were pictures and reports, letters and tales that were told in awed whispers or roaring laughter.

Her face turned to the sky. She wouldn't be able to light a candle for Jessica, but she would send a special prayer to the Lord. That He may let her find peace and reunite with her best friend in the afterlife. A heart-weary sigh escaped her and Ana María closed her eyes, resolving to check on Frances later.

 **.**

"Ana María?" Clothing rustled and snow creaked under paratrooper boots. "Ana?"

She opened her eyes and managed a faint smile. "Hey Moe."

Alley hopped into the hole, shifting his rifle to rest against the wall beside him. Getting as comfortable as it would get, he then looked at the radio operator and asked quietly: "You okay?"

She shrugged plaintively, eyes downcast.

Contrary to popular belief, Ana María wasn't forthcoming when something really bothered her. The communicative, energetic Puerto Rican could become surprisingly withdrawn and subdued. Trying to figure out what was eating her was like pulling teeth.

Alley knew this and didn't take offense to her lack of verbal response. He looped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Are you missing home?"

She gave an indistinctly affirmative hum, which turned into a cough.

He sighed. "Yeah", he mumbled. "Me too."

 **.**

Night crept in even though it was no later than 5 pm.

Lipton came by on his rounds. The caring, concerned look he wore so often seemed to have etched itself into his features with a certain degree of permanence. He gave Alley a significant look, a silent 'Take care of her' as well as an unspoken caution.

Alley nodded slightly. Message received.

 **.**

"What do you want to do after the war?"

Ana María's voice was low and hoarse, laced with sadness and that tinge of uncertainty they all felt.

Alley shrugged. "Haven't thought much about it", he confessed. "Settle down, find good work… marry a great girl." He glanced at her, heart beating a little faster as he saw the beginnings of her smile blossoming in the corner of her mouth. "What about you, Ana?"

Her shoulder lightly pressed against his side as she inhaled. She leant into his touch. "I don't know. I… Things are going to be so different back home. No use making plans now."

A sobering outlook and not one he liked to hear from his optimistic, hopeful friend, Alley decided. "Well… what would you like to do then?"

"Something with radios, I think", she said and he was pleased to hear some of her natural passion returning to her voice. "Or anything with electronics. That would be swell." Her body slumped a little under his arm and her head dipped. A shudder went through her and she sneezed.

"Bless you", he said automatically.

She craned her neck to look at him, dark irises shining. "And you", she said in return before burrowing closer against him, closing her eyes.

Alley kept watch while she slept, her face tucked against the hollow of his throat. The tip of her nose was ice-cold, but the fluttering puffs of air brushing against his skin were warm, blissfully so in the eternal snow around them.

* * *

Voices drifted through the air, the familiar melody of a Christmas carol floating over from the other side. For once, the forest felt almost peaceful.

Out on the OP, Babe quietly joined in with the singing whenever he recognised the tune. It earned him a few sidelong glances from Shindell, a replacement who was ridiculously skittish in the presence of officers.

"Say, Lieutenant", Babe interrupted his off-key rendition of Silent Night, "you must be a great singer. What with your uppity family and all that."

Maxine chuckled. The guys liked to tease her about her upper-class background, but it was all good-natured since they knew how much she disliked the stifling social conventions and the scheming and insincere flattery that took place in those circles.

"I'm not", she replied with a grin. "I can carry a tune reasonably well, but that's about it. My brother is the musician of our family."

"Oh yeah?" He smothered a cough in the crook of his elbow, grimacing at the barking noise rattling up his chest. "And you?"

Her smile turned sharp and he picked up on the sadness and hurt underneath the humour as she said: "I'm the black sheep." She shifted a little and plastered a haughty, stern look onto her face that was incredibly at odds with her wide smile. "Now get yourself back to your foxhole, your shift's over."

"Yes Ma'am."

 **.**

Babe shuffled through the trees, pausing once when a coughing fit nearly brought him to his knees. Cursing the snow and the Krauts in his mind and out loud after he'd caught his breath, the Philadelphian redhead righted himself and trudged on.

He was nearly at his foxhole when he heard his name called in a whisper. He turned, squinting into the dark. _Catherine_ , his tired mind supplied at the sight of the silhouette standing out against the dirty greyish snow.

"Huh?", he made.

The ranking medic was now close enough that he could see her properly. "You still have that cough, right?", she asked, studying him with her experienced gaze.

"Um… yeah."

Her lips pursed as she nodded. She pulled something from her bag. "We got some penicillin on the supply drop", she said, stepping closer. "I'll give you a dose. If your cough's caused by bacteria, it should get better soon."

"Okay." Babe wasn't exactly a huge fan of needles, but his cough was really getting on his nerves.

Catherine swiftly injected the medicine, using the same trick to distract him as she always did with her kids when they were at the doctor's. Just before she gave him the shot, she asked Babe what his favourite colour was.

Bewildered and caught off-guard, he spluttered a hoarse "What?" and didn't notice the needle pricking his skin until it was too late.

She smiled at him, carefully removing the syringe. "Sorry, it's the easiest way to make it less painful."

He shook his head, still a little confused. "'s alright, Mom, I just didn't expect it."

"Well", she said, storing the empty syringe in her bag, "that was the point. Now go get some rest, okay?"

Grumbling half-heartedly about mother-hen lieutenants and medics, Babe turned to manoeuvre between the foxholes.

 **.**

Catherine smiled to herself as she watched him leave. She had heard what he'd muttered under his breath. The men often pretended to complain about being fussed over, but it was all for show. She knew they appreciated her care and, at the end of the day, she was a mother and these guys were family to her.

* * *

The unusual peace of the night was shattered by a mortar explosion, followed by screams of pain.

"Medic!", somebody shouted. It was always difficult to distinguish between voices in the forest. The trees seemed to muffle some noises and distort others.

A few more detonations echoed through the forest, shaking the ground.

"Medic!", the voice hollered again.

Catherine had wheeled around at the first cry. By the time the second cry rang out, she was running. _Shit shit shit_ , she cursed in her mind.

A mortar shell blew up five feet from her and she went down in a heap as the world spun mercilessly. Scrambling to her feet before her vision had righted itself, she continued, sprinting past foxholes.

Her jaw clenched when she recognised the direction she was running in as the way to the CP.

 _Shit._

"Roe!"

 _Oh no._ Catherine's stomach took a nosedive towards her scuffed boots. She dodged a fallen tree, nearly slipped on ice-coated pieces of splintered wood and ducked as more artillery blasts tore through the forest.

Moans and pained cries reached her ears, along with the fast-paced voice of Captain Nixon requesting an A-jeep to 2nd battalion CP. Finally, she was close enough to see it. And her stomach sank further.

Roe stood a few feet from the fallen man, unmoving. From behind, Catherine couldn't see his face, but she didn't have to.

"Roe", Winters spoke, a hint of fear underneath the urgency in his firm tone.

 **.**

Catherine reached her fellow medic and was ready to take over for him when life returned to his frozen form with a start. The two medics rushed to Lieutenant Welsh where he lay on the ground, legs writhing in agony.

Trusting Gene to treat the wound, Catherine stepped around the officers crowding around their friend and knelt by his head. "Hold still, lieutenant", she soothed, feeling his pulse and frowning at his pasty, clammy skin.

"Oh Jesus", he groaned out through tightly clenched teeth.

Taking stock of the situation, the ranking medic noted Peacock just sitting there, staring at his wounded comrade. Nixon and Winters were doing their best to help Gene, who was working to keep their patient from bleeding out.

"Morphine", she decided while shifting to elevate Welsh's head and upper body. It wouldn't do to have him slip into shock, he was already on the verge of it due to the pain and blood loss.

Gene gave a curt nod. "I got a syrette in my pocket", he said, addressing Winters without taking his eyes off Welsh's bleeding leg. "Give it to him."

"Where do you want it?"

"Opposite thigh."

Silently thanking God for Captain Winters' presence of mind and clear head, Catherine turned to Nixon. "You'll explain later", she muttered to him. Her tone and expression left no room for arguments.

 **.**

Bundling Welsh onto the stretcher was a matter of seconds.

"Gene, get yourself into town and grab a hot meal", Catherine ordered.

He nodded and hopped into the jeep. He knew that he was slipping and he knew just as well that she knew. He had been having trouble focusing the past few days and now, he had zoned out when he should have been helping Welsh. If she decided to make him a runner for Captain Winters for a while, he couldn't protest. He couldn't freeze up again.

* * *

The jeep roared off, leaving them in breathless silence. Catherine blew out a long breath as the rush of adrenaline slowly faded from her mind. Spending an hour or two away from the line would do Gene some good.

She raked a hand through her grimy, stiff hair and let out another gust of air. Her eyes travelled to the puddle of blood staining the ground in a grotesque imitation of a colour study. The shelling had stopped, she realised. The smell of smoke, acrid and stinging, still hung in the air. Then her gaze caught on a charred pile of ash and blackened twigs and the pieces came together. Fire stirred in her chest.

"Is he gonna be okay?"

Catherine raised her head to look at Peacock, who was staring at her with a mixture of trepidation and hope.

"He should be", she allowed tersely. Heat crept up her collar and she could literally feel her blood pressure rising. Hands firmly on her hips, she faced the assembled officers with a disapproving glower and wanted to know: "What happened?"

It was quickly established what had transpired, Nixon and Winters' explanations complementary to each other as they told her about the fire and the resulting mortar attack. The Hawaiian listened quietly, feeling more and more tired by the second. After they had finished, she silently considered them as anger overpowered the sense of exhausted resignation once more.

 **.**

If it hadn't been so dark and if Nixon hadn't been so good at feigning indifference, he would have cringed away from the distinctly unimpressed expression settling on Catherine's features. As it was, he couldn't quite conceal a wince and he knew Dick was likely also remembering the last time they had witnessed the mother of two deliver a formidable tongue-lashing.

"What the _Hell_ were you thinking?!", she questioned, the low volume of her words making their intensity all the worse. "What the hell were you thinking, lighting a fire? God damnit, you know better than this!" Her hands flew up in an exasperated, furious gesture. "We have enough people dying as it is without anyone irresponsibly breaking a rule that is in place for a very good reason!"

Peacock muttered miserably: "It was Welsh's idea."

This time, Nix did cringe at the man's obvious lack of self-preservation. _You idiot…_

Nostrils flaring in fury, Catherine rounded on him, her brown eyes flashing dangerously. "I don't care whose idea it was", she snapped, somehow still managing to keep her voice down. "In fact, I couldn't care _less_ whose idea it was! You are grown-ups, you are officers, you should have stopped it." Her glare fixated one man after the other, letting them know that none of them were blameless.

Peacock wisely kept his mouth shut and ducked his head.

"You're right, Catherine", Winters said with a nod. "We should have put the fire out immediately."

Slightly appeased by her former CO's acknowledgment of their guilt, the young woman pointed out: "It never should have been lit in the first place."

"No, it shouldn't have", he agreed succinctly.

Silence fell, stretching uncomfortably, before Catherine finally sighed. "I gotta get back to the line", she murmured, letting her glare fall away.

Winters dismissed her with a sincere "Take care of yourself, Catherine."

"See you later, Mom", Nixon added.

The ghost of a smile twitched around her lips. "Yes sir", she replied. "You too, sirs."


	54. Chapter 54 - Hanging On

**Hello my wonderful readers, how are you today? Sorry, I'm still a bit hyped. I got a full-time job at the company I interned with and I just binged The Mandalorian and can't get the theme out of my head.**

 **Anyway: I just wanted to thank you all for reading my work and leaving such uplifting and kind reviews. I am so happy that you enjoy my writing!**

 **Now on with the story. Be warned, things are going to get worse before they get better. (Gosh, I started working on episode 7 yesterday and I already made myself cry once...)**

* * *

In the early hours of Christmas Day, Catherine walked the line, lost in thought. Snow creaked under her boots, the cold creeping up her limbs and down her collar. Her anger at the officers had dispelled, the heaviness of Jessica's death returning to the forefront of her mind. She couldn't help but think of Jess' two little brothers, David and Fabian. They were only eleven. In fact, as Jessica had told her not two months ago, when they had sat huddled together in a foxhole in Holland, Fabian's birthday was on Christmas Eve.

How would that affect the little boy? The fact that from now on, his birthday would always be also the day his big sister, his hero, lost her life? Catherine couldn't even begin to imagine.

Mr and Mrs Helak would receive a telegram from the war department. Sometime later, Jessica's personal effects would be sent to them. And after that, they'd receive the 10,000-dollar life insurance most, if not all, paratroopers had signed up for.

A poor recompense for their daughter's life. For the fact that the joy of Christmas Eve and their youngest son's birthday would forever be tainted by their daughter's death.

 **.**

Forcing the thoughts from her mind because this was the absolutely wrong time for pessimism and melancholy, the ranking medic crouched down at the lip of a foxhole and lifted the tarp.

The next thing she knew, she was staring up into the snow-grey darkness, no air in her lungs and a searing pain lancing through her gut.

Somebody yelled her name.

Catherine was on her back without knowing how or why. Snow soaked into her clothes and hair. Where had her helmet gone? Small spots of cold registered on her face where snowflakes landed.

"Oh shit", the same person swore before screaming for a medic.

Something warm and sticky was spreading on her stomach and running down her side. It felt wet. _Why does it hurt? What happened?_

A moan tore at her throat.

"Oh fuck, oh God", the same voice rambled. "Shit! MEDIC! God, I'm sorry, Doc, I'm so sorry, I gotta do this."

Then, hands pressed down onto the pain in her stomach and she screamed. Black dots swirled before her eyes. She didn't feel all that cold anymore. _Odd,_ a tiny voice remarked, just as the black vortex swallowed her field of vision.

"Fuck, where's the goddamn medic?! MEDIC!"

That was the last Catherine heard.

* * *

The solitary gunshot had had everyone ducking for cover. When Malarkey's voice – pitched high and horrified – split through the frigid air, half of second platoon saw Doc Arricante fly past a heartbeat later, her boots kicking up fluffs of powdered snow.

 **.**

Appearing out of the fog- and snow-hazed night, Mia came to such an abrupt halt that Malarkey was honestly astonished that she kept her balance. What little colour the cold had left on her face drained away. But she didn't hesitate for even the smallest of moments and dropped to her knees beside him. Wads of gauze found their way into her small hands from seemingly out of nowhere and he quickly scooted aside to give her room to work.

Everyone with a foxhole in the vicinity was craning their necks and peering over the lip of their hole. Only a handful of the neighbouring foxholes' occupants had witnessed the incident that had caused this commotion. And yet, nobody seemed able to fully comprehend what just happened.

Luz managed to shake himself out of his stupor when his ears caught a string of murmured German slipping from Mia's cracked lips and he made himself useful by calling for a jeep. He told himself that it was the cold making his fingers clumsy as he fumbled for the radio receiver.

The rest of the men could only watch as one female medic worked to save the life of the other, breaths caught in their throats.

"I- Is…is she dead?"

The tremulous query had Malarkey's head swivelling around so fast that he nearly snapped his neck. He stared at Keener, the replacement he'd been sharing his foxhole with for the past three hours because Keener's buddy was out on the CP. The twitchy idiot that had just shot their sister-in-arms.

Before he could open his mouth to form a reply – he wasn't feeling too sympathetic, his emotional capacity overwhelmed with fear for their ranking medic, so maybe it was just as well – the younger of the two women responsible for saving their lives and patching up their asses fifty times over beat him to it.

"No", Mia said without turning her head, her soft voice travelling effortlessly in the worry-thick air. Her hands were busy packing gauze into the hole in Catherine's side. "She's alive."

 **.**

Audible puffs of relief shattered some of the tension at her proclamation, loud in contrast to the strange hush that had fallen over the area. NCOs began refocusing their guys onto the line. Replacements had their helmets slapped and admonishments of "watch the damn line" were given. The veterans still glanced back every now and then, curiosity and concern compelling them.

Mia's focused eyes, pools of unfathomable, unreadable blue, flickered to Malarkey. He just barely managed to contain the flinch, but his stomach dropped like a bag of bricks – like Catherine had. Never in the more than two years of knowing her had he seen unflappable and quiet Doc Arricante look so plainly and openly rattled.

She held his gaze for only a second before it shifted back to her patient, superior and friend. Two blood-coated fingers easily found the pulse point on Catherine's neck, rested over the reassuring, soft thumps for a moment.

"Wach auf, Catherine", she murmured. "Bitte."

First Sergeant Lipton crouched down next to the unconscious medic's head. "Luz is calling a jeep", he told Mia.

The taciturn brunette bobbed her head in acknowledgement, deftly unfurling a bandage and wrapped it around Catherine's midsection. Another followed.

 **.**

Captain Winters and Lieutenant Nixon came to investigate. Mia assured them that Catherine would most likely be alright, but left other explanations to Malarkey. Satisfied that her friend wasn't in immediate danger of bleeding out on her anymore, she set about trying to rouse her from unconsciousness.

She was rewarded with a low groan and a flutter of eyelids. "Can you open your eyes, Mom?", she coaxed, the words an ingrained routine by now.

A bleary blink revealed a flash of brown, but Catherine's lids seemed to be too heavy for they closed again on their own accord. "Wha' happened?", she wondered in a mumbled whisper, rough around the edges and scratchy with pain.

Mia told her, somehow managing to blend matter-of-fact with soothing in her tone. "You got shot."

"Ah..." She grimaced, fingers grasping at the ground. "It…hurts", she breathed.

Lip took a hold of Catherine's hand, squeezing it gently. "You're gonna be okay, Catherine."

"Mmhh…", she grunted, face scrunched up. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she gasped for air that wouldn't reach her lungs.

Mia's brows drew together in a startlingly clear sign of distress. She shoved a blood-stained hand into her satchel and pulled out one of her last remaining syrettes. Sticking it in Catherine's shoulder, she rubbed her friend's arm. "It will feel better soon."

Catherine only managed a strangled noise before pain and blood loss pulled her away from lucidity once more.

 **.**

Lipton, perceptive and empathetic as always, didn't miss the tiny hitch in Mia's breath as Catherine passed out again. Just like he didn't miss the flash of fear crossing that guarded, masked expression. Or the way those small, almost childlike fingers trembled when they moved to feel Catherine's pulse again.

He reached out, put his hand on the brunette's shoulder. It felt thin and bony. Her muscles tensed under his hand and for a second, Lip expected her to shrug him off. An exhale later, she relaxed, turned her head a little so she could look at him.

Her face was cold-bitten and so pale that it even swallowed the scars on her chin and cheekbone. The corners of her mouth pulled up into a small smile so incongruous to the lost, frightened look deep inside her eyes. She was shaking, he could feel it through the worn fabric of her jacket.

The growling engine of a jeep broke the taut quiet.

"Malarkey", Lipton ordered, "give us a hand."

Between the three of them, they carried Catherine to the jeep. With the driver's assistance, they got the ranking medic settled in the back of the vehicle. Mia climbed in and crouched down beside her, reading a bottle of plasma for a transfusion.

The driver wasted no time in sliding behind the wheel again. "Hold tight!", he called. He didn't wait for any reaction from the young woman in the back, simply hitting the gas instead.

The jeep lurched forward and barrelled off, leaving behind a solemn cluster of soldiers that was still grappling with the shock they had just suffered.

* * *

Catherine had woken up when they reached Bastogne. She was groggy and unable to properly focus on her surroundings as she drifted on the haze of morphine, but she was awake. Awake enough to notice the nuances in her friend's murmurs.

"Mia", she mumbled, wrenching her eyes open with inordinate effort.

The soothing melody of German whispers stopped. "Yes?"

Mia's face swam into her fuzzy view.

"Are you…okay?"

A shaky huff of laughter reached her ears. The smile on Mia's lips was pained. "I'm not the one with a hole in her stomach", the younger woman said softly.

"Don't..." She blinked, pulled in a breath that sent sharp twinges through her gut. "Don't…" – her eyes refused to stay open, much to her displeasure – "…worry about me. 'm gonna be fine."

She could hear a faint trace of a real smile in her voice as Mia answered: "I know. You'll be back soon."

"Mhm."

 **.**

Mia couldn't help but stare at the smouldering piles of bricks and timber, the charred ruins and hollowed shells of buildings. The first pale hues of dawn deepened the shadows lurking in empty windows and gaping doorways, made the jagged remainders of walls loom taller. It was almost surreal. The house with the askew shutter five streets down from the fountain was reduced to rubble. The roof of that former restaurant had come down. The aid station was destroyed.

There were still fires burning from the attacks of the night. People were running to fill bucket after bucket to put out the flames. Medical personnel hurried around in the organised chaos and volunteers searched for survivors.

"Air raid", the driver said, as if Mia couldn't tell. She caught his disgusted sneer in the rear-view mirror. "Damn Krauts don't even have the respect to hold a cease-fire for Christmas. Fucking bastards."

She stayed silent.

* * *

Bill Guarnere prided himself on his ability to always have an ear on the ground when it came to Easy and his men. So of course, when he heard that Catherine, their beloved and respected ranking medic, had been shot, he immediately set out to get the whole story.

His first stop was, predictably, Maxine. The tall Washingtonian was thoroughly unsurprised to see him and offered him a warm, if somewhat strained smile. "You heard about Mom."

"Yeah. What happened? Krauts have been quiet since the last barrage."

The discerning hazel gaze dropped and she sighed. "The shot didn't come from the enemy line, Bill", she said, eyes rising back up to him.

He swore.

Maxine simply nodded wearily, too tired and strung out to scold him for his language. "If you want the whole story, Malarkey's your best bet", she told him, knowing that this was what he wanted. "He saw everything."

Guarnere acknowledged with a grunt and gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Wanna come?", he asked.

She shook her head, explaining that she'd better go and bully their battalion commander into getting some rest.

The platoon sergeant laughed and promised with a gleeful grin to stop by her foxhole later to fill her in.

"Alright", she said, "see you then."

 **.**

Malarkey was with Luz, Heffron and Toner and another wide-eyed replacement whose name Guarnere couldn't remember. _Howards? Hutchins?_ From the sounds of it, Luz was currently recounting the time he had tricked Sobel into thinking Major Horton had joined them on a manoeuvre.

"Oh hey Guarnere", Luz greeted him over the laughter of his audience. "Any news?"

He shook his head. "No. Heard about Mom."

That sobered the mood quite effectively. Malarkey's mouth twisted into a frown. "Stupid accident", he grumbled.

Bill crossed his arms to ward off the persistent chill in the air. "What happened?"

Between Malarkey and Luz, he quickly had the complete story – including emotions that he agreed with. Stupid accident indeed. Or rather, stupid jumpy replacement. Or stupid siege that had them stuck in this stupid forest. "Damn", he muttered. He hadn't been there to see it but the image Malarkey's recount had painted of Catherine collapsing in a boneless heap wasn't a pretty one.

Luz nodded sombrely, but added an optimistic: "Mia said she should be okay."

Toner looked doubtful. "It looked pretty bad", he said quietly.

"Our medics are tough as nails", Bill said breezily, waving a hand. "The craziest and bravest bastards of the entire division. A little bullet wound's not gonna stop them."

He was exaggerating, he knew that. But the sentiment was true. In a way, being a medic required more guts than being a soldier. Because they were out in the field unarmed, running around under fire to save lives, even when they were hurt and exhausted themselves.

Malarkey bobbed his head distractedly, though his expression didn't clear up. "I've never seen Mia look so upset, though", he said, thinking back to the flash of naked panic on the youngest medic's pale face.

Luz bit his lip, choosing not to mention that _he_ had and that he had only himself to blame.

"That girl's been alone behind enemy line twice, but she didn't look so scared then", Malarkey continued. "She's always so unreadable and calm, and she looked so shaken."

 **.**

Guarnere huffed a decisive breath through his nose, joining their little circle. "Doc Arricante has more guts than any of us", he drawled with matter-of-fact casualty, though there was a line of iron underneath, aimed at the newer guys. "She's friends with Lieutenant Speirs, yelled at the Germans in their trenches and eavesdropped on the enemy."

Toner's jaw dropped and Babe couldn't contain a stunned "Whoa." Then he frowned. "She yelled at the Germans?", he repeated.

The veterans grinned, recalling the scene. Nerve-wrecking then, it was now one of the many moments that strengthened their respect and appreciation for the female members of their company.

"Why did she do that?", the replacement whose name Bill was pretty sure began with H wondered in an awed whisper.

The three Toccoa men shared a glance, silent communication taking place.

"Well, fellas", Luz began as he had just been nominated to tell this particular story. "It was in Normandy. We were in another one of those goddamned fields, us in one hedgerow, the Germans in the other. Now, one thing you gotta know is that the medics don't care what side you're on. You're hit, they patch you up, no matter what uniform you wear-"

* * *

 _Unfortunately, not all soldiers took kindly to an enemy medic taking care of one of their own._

 _One day, in another field, in another skirmish with the Germans, several members of Easy's first platoon watched in a mixture of disbelief, awe and outrage as Mia Arricante came under fire while she belly-crawled towards a prone, writhing form on the ground._

 _"_ _Fucking Krauts!", Cobb cursed, glaring at the muzzle flashes in the other hedgerow as if it would stop the bullets from leaving the gun barrels._

 _Frances watched with baited breath, rifle clutched in her hands, fear for her friend making her heartbeat overly loud in her head._

 _"_ _Damnit, Doc", Sergeant Martin groused, squinting to see the young medic's thin figure, "you trying to get yourself killed?"_

 _The firing from the other trenches petered out, but one machine gun continued spewing round after round over the woman's head. Several sharp gasps hissed out when one bullet grazed the top of her helmet with a sharp scraping sound._

 _Louise murmured: "Bleeding Christ, Mia, you're out of your ruddy tree", a white-knuckled grip on her M-1 Garand._

 _Mia had reached her destination, but as soon as she made a move to pull herself into a more upright position, another volley of bullets spat up dirt uncomfortably close to her. She flinched back down, horribly exposed with only the weakly moving body of the wounded soldier as cover._

 _"_ _Get out of there, get out of there", Nixon chanted under his breath, binoculars virtually glued to his eyes._

 _Another attempt to help the man was hampered by the incessant gunfire aimed towards her. She knew that the longer she waited, the lower the man's chances of survival sunk._

 _Taking a deep breath, Mia tried again. A bullet whizzed past her ear and she ducked low, bending protectively over the badly wounded man. Her ear was on his chest and the raspy sound of his breathing was anything but encouraging._

 _Later, she would look back and wonder what had possessed her in that moment. Whether it was a bout of insanity, desperation or just sheer stupidity, she could never tell with absolute certainty._

 _Whatever the case might be, the medic ended up baffling everyone including herself as she raised her head the fraction of an inch and shouted at the Germans. Her voice travelled on the wind so that Easy could hear her crystal clear in their hedgerow._

 _"_ _Hör endlich auf zu schiessen, verdammt nochmal!", she yelled, helpless anger in her tone. "Ich versuche ihm zu helfen, du hirnverbrannter Trottel!"_

 _The gunfire ceased immediately. A stunned silence settled over the battle field like a leaden blanket as all eyes were upon Mia. A shadow broke away from the German trenches, climbing up and stepping out into the open to reveal a Kraut medic, who hurried over to assist._

 _In Easy's trenches, several fingers twitched on triggers, but nobody moved. The entire company, as well as their enemy, seemed to be collectively holding their breath while the two medics worked on their patient._

 _An eternity later, the German medic gave Mia a pat on the shoulder and jerked his head in the universal signal for 'Get out of here'. She nodded and got up, casting a furtive glance towards the enemy line before breaking out into a run, booking it back to her line._

* * *

"She really did that?" Babe seemed to be caught somewhere between admiration, shock and glee.

Guarnere shot his fellow Philadelphian a grin a mile wide. "Yeah, she did."

"What did she say?", H- something or other wanted to know.

He shrugged. "No idea. Think Eddie Stein said she called the guy a brainless bonehead."

"She yelled at him to stop firing and that she was trying to help", Luz supplied, beaming proudly around his cigarette.

"Are all medics this crazy?", Toner blurted, making the Toccoa men cackle.

"Yeah", Popeye chimed in. Their audience had grown, several others drifting over to listen. "Remember how they gave Sobel that fake appendix scar in basic?"

A number of jaws went slack. "They what?!"

 **.**

Cheerfully, Malarkey recounted that particular story which had cemented Easy's resolve to never ever get on their medics' bad side. He said as much, which prompted Hoobler to remind them of the time Catherine had broken up a barfight in Aldbourne.

The replacements gaped, eyes wide as they stared at the veterans who winced or snickered, the incident obviously hard to forget.

"Oh man, that was a good one", Popeye laughed. "She was spitting mad. Marched right into the middle, grabbed 'em fighters by the ear and pulled them off each other. And then read everyone the riot act."

Luz rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing as he recalled the spectacular tongue-lashing the Hawaiian had unleashed on the dishevelled brawlers and guilty bystanders. It had left even the most combative and hot-headed soldiers shame-faced and contrite.

"Yeah, that was one hell of a dressing-down", Bill nodded. Catherine's words had been harsh and unsympathetic, full of disappointed anger, but true and never below the belt. Which had made it all the worse. "My ears were still ringing a day later."

Talbert's laugh turned into a scratchy cough as he commented: "Be glad you got off with only a lecture."

A telling look passed between the veterans. A muscle in Bill's jaw tensed and even the expressions of Luz and Malarkey turned unusually dark. Babe frowned at the sudden shift in mood. Before he could ask what Talbert meant by that, however, Hughes beat him to it.

 **.**

The Toccoa men glanced at each other again. This time, their wordless conversation ended with Guarnere blowing a sharp puff of air through his nose and fixing Babe, Toner and the new kid – Hughes, that was his name, he remembered – with a look that left no room for nonsense or argument.

"Our girls ain't some damsels in distress", he said, straight to the point as he always did. "They don't take shit from anybody and if a guy thinks he can have his way with them, he'll have another thing coming."

Toner scrunched up his face. "They- um…" He fumbled for the right words to phrase the question without getting punched in the mouth. "Somebody tried to… you know, tried to…" He trailed off.

"-get fresh?", a hoarse but distinctly accented voice suggested. Hughes jumped half a foot in the air while Toner let out a startled squawk.

"Proposition us? Cop a feel? Take advantage?", Louise continued, her grey eyes steely, a blonde brow arched.

Toner only managed a lame nod, the sniper's sharp gaze making him slightly uneasy. He fervently hoped he hadn't offended her…

"Louise…", Bill started, though nobody knew whether it was a caution, reproach or an aborted reminder that she wasn't required to answer.

She shook her head, but softened her expression. "Several have tried", she said, blunt but without any heat. "Mind you, it doesn't happen as often as it did back during the first months of basic training, but every time a new wave of replacements arrive, a few of them think propositioning us will prove their prowess and masculinity."

Disgusted eyerolls, sneers and grimaces all around. Babe couldn't help but wonder what somebody as fierce as Louise would do to a man who didn't keep his hands to himself.

"They usually lose the bravado when they hear about the Samaria", Muck piped up, a wicked and mildly worrisome glint to his smile.

A burst of nasty-sounding coughs wracked Louise's frame, through which she croaked out a sharkish: "They should."

 **.**

Hughes looked back and forth between the veterans, puzzled and clueless. Unlike Babe and Toner, he hadn't heard even a throw-away comment, much less the whole story, yet. "The Samaria?"

The veterans glanced at Louise whose nostrils flared. "The troop ship that took us to England", she said with a shrug that was nonchalant to the casual observer's eye, her voice still gravelly from coughing. "Some lowlifes cornered three of us Easy's girls in a hallway, they put up a fight and the shit stains were sent off with their tails between their legs."

Her eyes moved to Luz and she resolutely switched topics by asking: "Luz, d'you still have any chocolate in your stockpile? I'll trade you two packs of smokes for one bar."

His eyebrows rose in disbelief. "Two full packs?", he questioned. Louise wasn't one for short-changing and hustling, but that was quite the offer she was making.

He received one of her exasperated stares. "Yes, two full packs of cigarettes", she confirmed, impatience tempered with soft concern. "Now do you have some chocolate or not?"

Luz raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Yeah yeah, keep your shirt on. What's the rush?"

"I've got a medic to check on."

The light of comprehension dimmed the sparkle in his eyes as he quickly reached for his pack and dug out a slightly squished chocolate bar. He tossed it to the sniper, who caught it with ease, her free hand already pulling out the promised payment.

Luz accepted one pack, but didn't make any move to take the other. "Give that to Mia", he said when she cocked her head in a silent question. "She traded her last one for penicillin yesterday."

Louise dipped her head in acquiescence, lips quirking into some semblance of a smile. "Cheers, Luz." She put the chocolate and the remaining pack of smokes back into the folds of her jacket and said: "Right, gents, don't let me keep you from your teatime chat."

She caught Luz' eye and gave him a nod before walking away to the sound of Hughes asking why people called Catherine "Mom".

* * *

And while the Brit returned to her foxhole and pressed the chocolate bar into the small cold-pale hands of her dear friend, Theresa sat with her knees to her chest, staring at one of the slips of paper her brother had sent her in his last letter, keeping her mind suitably distracted by the puzzle he'd written on it in his flowing and clear handwriting.

She had spent the better part of the afternoon writing and rewriting the letter for Jessica's family. A sad total of thirteen pages had been balled up or even ripped to pieces before she had finally managed to get it right.

 _Dear Mr and Mrs Helak_

 _My name is Theresa Nolan and I am writing to you on behalf of the women of Easy Company. By the time this letter reaches you, you will no doubt have been notified of your daughter's death. We are truly sorry for your loss and wish to offer our sincerest condolences._

 _As Jessica's squad sergeant, I have gotten to know your daughter very well and quickly came to admire her tenacity and loyalty. Even in the direst situations, Jess lightened the mood with a snarky comment or a clever joke. In fact, she had a reputation for offering sarcastic commentary during firefights._

 _She spoke often of her family and it was always obvious that she loved you all very much. She was so proud of her little brothers and would never turn down an opportunity to tell a funny story or two about all the mischief she had gotten into with David and Fabian. Jessica was a great story-teller, something she claimed to have inherited from you, Mrs Helak. Thanks to her wonderful skill, she managed to ward off the boredom of a long shift on watch as she told us Polish folk tales and legends._

 _It was a privilege to serve with your daughter and we miss her. Please know that Jessica died fighting for the country and the people she loved._

 _Yours sincerely_

 _Theresa Nolan, Maxine Lloyd, Frances Shea, Ana María Hernandez, Louise Fields, Mia Arricante_

It sat in her breast pocket for now, carefully folded as envelopes were hard to come by in this accursed forest. Theresa sighed and scratched at her nose. Either this puzzle really was as difficult as it seemed right now or the cold and lack of sleep were taking more out of her than she realised.

"Theresa."

"Hey Lip", she replied absently, eyebrows drawn together as she continued to puzzle over the riddle.

The First Sergeant settled next to her and despite her focus being on the paper in her hand, she could feel his assessing, caring gaze studying her.

She pretended not to notice. "My brother set me some new puzzles in his last letter", she said instead. She turned her wrist so he could read the riddle. "Any ideas?"

"Reese…" Concern joined the sympathy and understanding he radiated, the gentle inflection telling her that there was no need to put up a charade.

"He's taken them from this book he was reading. He thought I'd like them", Theresa continued, keeping her tone light and nonchalant. Despite its futility, she still held some semblance of hope that he'd play along.

Lip heaved a sigh, barely audible, and ignored her distraction attempt. "How are you doing, Reese?", he asked.

 **.**

It was her turn to sigh. Theresa set the riddle down in her lap and turned her head to look at him. She regarded him wearily, brown gaze rational and honest as always. "What do I have to say to get you to stop looking at me like that, sir?"

"Like what, Theresa?"

She shot him a 'Cut the crap'-look. "Like you're just waiting for me to fall apart. I'm not going to say I'm okay because I'm not, but I've broken down over Jess and then I pulled myself together because my squad needs me."

Those kind eyes bored into her. The young woman met them. "Lip", she said when she saw the worry in his expression, the doubt that came from having heard the words 'I'm fine' far too often when they weren't true. "I'm doing alright, considering. I could sleep for a month and I'm so cold that I keep checking my nose for icicles and I have lost enough friends to last me a lifetime, but that's just how everyone feels."

He nodded, acknowledging the truth of her statement. "If you need to talk", he offered with a smile, "I'm here."

She smiled back. "Thanks, Lip. I appreciate it. Sorry for jumping down your throat like that."

"It's alright", he waved off. "I've had worse."

That drew a chortle from her. "Did Liebgott snarl at you too while Louise was gone?"

The look he gave her said it all. Theresa rolled her eyes and shook her head with an exasperated laugh.

"Now, want some help on that puzzle?", Lipton asked, smoothly changing the subject now that he was reassured that Theresa was as alright as she could be.

She held the paper out to him.


	55. Chapter 55 - Rescued

**Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay on this chapter, I was too busy enjoying the peace and quiet at home - and the lovely weather.**

 **I have some bad news, unfortunately: In the foreseeable future, I won't be able to post new chapters with any sort of regularity. My weekends are already chock-full until mid-April and with my new work hours, I can't get that much writing done during the week either.**

 **So, until May at least, updates will be irregular and, sadly, infrequent. I am really sorry and I hope you're not too disappointed. I want the chapters I upload to be good, not some hastily written jumble of words. Please understand that I will still try my hardest to write and edit as much as time allows. Again, I'm really sorry, I know how frustrating it is to wait for a writer to update a story you're hooked on...**

 **As an apology, this chapter is slightly bigger than the others.**

* * *

The days in the Bois Jacques continued in a blur of snow and mortars. Illness persisted and only a handful of people had yet to develop a cough, sore throat or blocked nose. Frances' improvised heaters helped prevent some of the more serious cases from turning any worse, but the medics still worked non-stop. Treating the wounded after barrages and the occasional firefight, handling ailments such as trench foot and UTIs that were running rampant, trying to fill the hole resulting from Catherine being out of commission. They were burning the candle at both ends, running on two hours of sleep or less. Their faces held a constant grey tinge of sheer exhaustion.

Which was why Spina nearly cried when word reached them that General Patton and his Third Army had broken through the German lines on 26 December.

"Did you hear that?", he asked, giving Mia's arm a shake in his excitement. "We're not surrounded anymore!"

Mia nodded, a small smile that didn't reach her eyes gracing her features. "I heard." She shuffled from one foot to the other and scrubbed a sleeve-covered hand down her face. "They came to rescue us", she quoted.

Spina snorted. The surrounded troopers vehemently resented the notion that they needed rescuing. In their eyes, they didn't need rescuing, they just needed more personnel and supplies. "All I care about", he said, "is that they broke through, the supply lines are gonna get restored and the wounded evacuated to the rear. I don't care about the whole heroics shit."

That proclamation coaxed another, slightly brighter smile from the young woman. "I don't either", she agreed. "I'll go and see if they have supplies for us."

She turned to leave, but found her path blocked by a certain blonde sniper. "You are not going anywhere before you've had some food", Louise decided.

"Louise-", Mia began, but her aborted protest was summarily ignored as a hand landed on her shoulder while a bowl of something was shoved into her hands.

"Eat", the Brit ordered.

Blue eyes searched her face for a brief moment before they dropped to the warm contents of the bowl. "I'll eat on the way." She scooped a spoonful into her mouth. "I must find the Third Army's supply officer."

Louise shook her head. "They won't disappear into thin air within the next ten minutes", she said, her words interspersed with coughs. "So you might as well eat now and find them later." She released her friend's shoulder now that she was satisfied that the other woman wasn't going to slip away without eating.

Recognising that there was no deterring Louise when she'd put her mind to something, Mia let herself be led over to the improvised mess tent.

 **.**

A small smattering of men sat on logs and tree stumps, mainly silent save for a few scraps of conversation floating back and forth as they ate. They looked up when Louise and Mia joined them, greeting the two women with varying levels of cheer and tiredness.

"Let's sit down over there." Louise motioned towards one of the logs with a tilt of her head.

"I'm almost finished, Louise", Mia said quietly. "I need to get our supplies."

Louise glanced into the bowl and tsked. "You're not even halfway done", she pointed out. She placed a hand on her elbow to lead her to the log. "Come on, you're on your feet all day long, running around looking after everyone. Sitting down to eat won't hurt."

The medic ducked her tousle-haired head and mumbled a soft: "I know. But I'm going to fall asleep when I sit down."

Louise paused. Her intent gaze softened with understanding. "All the more reason for you to sit down and take a break. I'll wake you if you nod off."

Chewing on her cracked and bloody bottom lip, Mia eventually relented with a small nod. "Okay."

Before long, Mia had finished her food. She quickly got to her feet, taking a half-step to the side to cover for the wave of dizziness making her head spin. She smiled her thanks at Louise, tucking her hands into her pockets to preserve the warmth of the bowl.

"Now let's track down that supply officer", Louise said, shouldering her rifle. "And then you, my friend, are going to get some sleep because frankly, you look like something chewed you up and spit you out again. Twice."

Mia's mouth twitched at the image, but she didn't offer anything in reply apart from a vague, non-committal hum.

 **.**

It took a while, but eventually, she had secured a crate of medical supplies for her company. They had sulfa, morphine, a limited supply of penicillin, even some aspirin and magnesium tablets. Bandages, burn kits, plasma, gauze. Nothing fancy, but it would do the job.

Dividing everything up between the three of them, they agreed to store the plasma and penicillin in "their" foxhole – in actuality, it was Spina and Gene's hole, though, as Mia had a tendency to drift from one foxhole to the next, rotating between a select few people to share such a cramped space with.

"We're hardly there anyway", Spina joked with that bleak gallows humour that all military personnel seemed to share. "No better place for it."

Hiking up her shoulders against the icy draught slipping its needle-like fingers through their ODs, Mia said: "I'll make the rounds now."

Gene dipped his head in acceptance, but told her to get some sleep. "You've been up most of the night."

"Okay", she agreed despite the reluctance – or was it hesitation? – lingering around her eyes. "Louise will yell at me if I don't."

The two men chuckled and Mia left with a parting smile, the creak of fresh snow under paratrooper boots fading into the distance.

* * *

Maxine rolled her shoulders and rubbed at the knotted muscles at the base of her neck, releasing a tired sigh. It seemed to her like the entire battalion was indignant at having been "saved" as it was, the soldiers complaining and grousing at every corner. Some had nearly gotten into arguments with Patton's men and she'd just about had it with their testosterone and grandstanding.

"Bunch of idiots", she muttered under her breath, feeling her head throb with the aggravation that had built up inside her.

She was exhausted, her skin and scalp itched with dirt and sweat and her uniform could only be described as grimy. Her eyes constantly stung from lack of sleep and there was a thick clump of sickness resting in her stomach from all the deaths and wounded.

Despite her annoyance, the Washingtonian couldn't truly be mad at her friends. They had held out against the enemy; they had defeated the odds. So they did have the right to brag, to talk themselves up a little. The brutal reality of their situation would slam back into them all soon enough, Maxine knew.

Walking between the foxholes, she talked to her men. Her nerves, frayed from days upon days of fighting, weathering shelling after shelling, settled as she chatted and joked with her guys.

 **.**

When she'd first been handed her commission, she'd worried that it would destroy her relationship with her friends. That becoming their superior in rank meant they'd stop seeing her as their equal.

She'd told Lipton of her worry and the kind man had smiled and reassured her that the guys would never do that.

"To the soldiers, you'll be Lieutenant Lloyd because that's what you are to the Army", he'd explained. "But to your friends, to them you will always be Max. The woman they've loved, admired and respected since Toccoa."

He had been right, as usual. Maxine still shared the same companionship, the same camaraderie, the same bonds with these men and women. Still bantered with them, let them tease her and responded in kind. She still listened to their grumblings, grievances and sorrows, offered advice or just a sympathetic ear. She still chided them for stupid stunts and settled arguments, still looked out for them just as they looked out for her.

 **.**

"You alright, Maxine?"

The lieutenant blinked, dragging herself out of her musings to focus on the cornflower-blue eyes and cigar-studded smile. "Sorry, Bull, just got lost in thought."

He studied her for a moment, critical but not doubtful. Then, he waved it off, good-natured as always. "Nothing to worry about, Max", he assured her easily. "You've got a lot on your mind."

A soft huff made its way up her throat. "Yeah…" She shook her head. "Though I have to say, some of our problems have been or will soon be solved now that we're no longer completely surrounded."

Bull hummed contemplatively, agreeing that their lack of food, ammo and winter clothing would likely be remedied as soon as they got communications with the supply dumps restored. He held his tongue about their lack of senior leadership, but Maxine was a smart and perceptive woman, so he wasn't overly surprised when a rueful, knowing smile tilted her lips.

"I wish I knew where Lt Dike went all the time, Bull", she said quietly, her words accompanied by a haphazard, graceless shrug that offset her inherent poise and sophisticated countenance. "But we manage and not too badly."

"Well, we got good lieutenants", he told her, nothing but truth ringing in the compliment.

She smiled at him, her natural beauty shining through the dirt, cold and exhaustion smudged across her delicate features. "Who'd be lost without the amazing NCOs."

It was something Maxine made a point of mentioning every once in a while. Without their non-coms, the entire company would fall apart. They were the ones that led patrols, checked on their guys, organised guard and OP shift rotations. The best officers in the world wouldn't be able to get much done without good NCOs. And Easy – as far as Maxine was concerned – had most outstanding ones. Toccoa guys, every last one of them.

Bull matched her smile and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "You oughta know, Max", he drawled, a twinkle in his blue eyes. "You were one yourself."

"Why Bull, I never took you for a flatterer", she batted her eyelashes, genuinely touched by his words.

He laughed. "Ain't nothing but the truth."

 **.**

As she finished her rounds a good hour later, Maxine passed Grant's foxhole and paused.

Chuck smiled at her when he noticed what had caught her attention. "She looked dead on her feet", he whispered.

Maxine's brow rose and she muttered: "She still does."

Tucked into Chuck's side, curled up with her knees to her chest and her bag resting on her hip, was Mia. The black rings under her closed eyes and the faint purple tint of her lips made her face look thin and hollow. Her skin was a few shades too white to be healthy, her scars from Nuenen all but invisible against the pallor of her features. Only the faint pink ones stood out prominently, dusting over her cheek and chin.

"Probably the first real sleep she's gotten in days", Chuck murmured, displeasure pinching his lips at the thought. They both knew it couldn't be far from the truth.

By virtue of being quiet and difficult to read, Mia easily faded into the background. Out of all the medics, she was best at hiding her own exhaustion or pain and for some reason – they had their theories, though none of them were confirmed – also most likely to use that skill to keep working when others would have long since passed out from utter overexertion.

"How'd you get her to sleep?", Maxine wondered. For all her soft-spoken and shifty-eyed mannerisms, the messy-haired girl possessed an incredibly strong will and an alarming disregard for her own health.

He shrugged, looking rather pleased. "I said I'd wake her in an hour or two."

She smiled, eyes travelling over the thin figure burrowed against his side. Even though there was still tension in every line of her body, Mia looked terribly young in her sleep. Much younger than her 20 years. Much as the younger woman hid it, Maxine knew that she was shaken up by Catherine getting wounded.

"I probably would have told her that Lt Speirs would kill us if we didn't take care of her", she commented.

Chuck lifted an eyebrow. "Guilt-tripping? Didn't think you'd go for that."

Maxine grinned and pretended to toss her hair. "Of course", she said with a haughty sniff. "My mother is a diplomat's wife, I learned from the best."

He chuckled and she left after quietly thanking him for looking out for the girl.

* * *

With the supply line restored, shipments of ammo, food, winter clothing, medical supplies and just about everything else Easy had been going without came through days later. They were still saddled with Dike as CO and the strain of responsibility was taking its toll on the remaining officers, especially since they were missing their XO as well since Welsh had been wounded.

A wave of replacements fresh from the boat arrived to bolster the battalion's diminished ranks and the company was reorganised, squads and platoons reshuffled to distribute seasoned veterans and green-as-grass new kids as effectively as possible.

Theresa was one of the unlucky ones who ended up with mostly replacements.

"Don't worry, Sarge", Cobb told her with a muted smirk, "we can handle this." He was one of the guys that remained in her squad, along with Pace and Herron. While Herron was still relatively new, Pace already had Market Garden under his belt and had shaped up into a fine soldier.

She nodded, observing as Pace instructed their newbies on how to dig a proper foxhole. "Yeah, we'll manage. Try not to break any of them, please?"

"Hey, you know me", the man shot back, spreading gloved hands in mock-indignation.

She gave him a deadpan look. "Exactly."

He snorted, but took the point. He wasn't exactly known for his patience or approachable manner.

 **.**

Another simple but vital thing Easy had sorely missed were letters from home. With them no longer cut off from all sides, mail finally reached them. News from their families and friends back stateside, from family members on deployment in other parts of the war, a tether to the life they had left behind in order to fight.

In Fox Company, James Pescini crowed in delight as he read the letter from his brother, who had recently become a father. "I'm an uncle", he marvelled, staring at the picture his cousin had sent with the letter. "I have a niece."

The entire company cooed over the photograph and showered the newly minted uncle with congratulations.

"She has my sister-in-law's eyes", he boasted, beaming with pride. "And the Pescini face."

Showing the picture to Audrey and Cassandra, he immediately dissolved into an excited rush of Maori, the words spilling out with machine gun speed.

Cassandra shook her head with a warm smile as Audrey happily dropped into the language of her parents. She only understood maybe one word out of twenty, but it was easy to guess that they were both gushing over the admittedly adorable tiny human bundle in the photo.

Later, in the privacy of their foxhole, she turned to her Kiwi comrade and asked: "Do you want children?"

Startled, Audrey looked at her, dark eyes roving across her face in search of an explanation. "What?"

"Kids, Ray", the South Dakotan repeated. "Do you want to have them?"

"I mean…" Audrey floundered to regain her equilibrium. "I guess someday, yes. Why?"

Cassandra shrugged, snuggling closer under the blanket. "Just a thought."

A soft huff hung in the air between them. "You're usually better at lying, Celia."

She smiled. "That's only because I love you."

Audrey's hand moved to squeeze her thigh. "Aroha ahau ki a koe", she hummed back, settling her head on Cassandra's shoulder.

 **.**

Louise nearly gave Alley and Liebgott a heart attack when she suddenly burst into hysteric giggles that quickly turned into a coughing fit. She doubled over hacking and choking to the backdrop of Liebgott cursing irreverently as the two men braced her while she nearly brought up a lung. Even though she had no air left to spare, the sniper couldn't contain her laughter.

Her parents' divorce had been finalised and she was now the official owner of the house even though she had told them to sell it since she'd always considered her home to be more with her Gramps and her cousins.

The paragraph that had sent her into fits of hilarity had come from her mother, appealing to her not to make any rash decisions.

 _My darling_ , her mother had written, _do not let your emotions cloud your judgement. I understand how difficult this must be for you. The house is yours to do with as you please, but I must urge you to let reason prevail._

"Let reason prevail", she gasped out between wheezing coughs that drove tears to her eyes. "Has she met me?"

Alley patted her on the back to help dislodge the phlegm congesting her lungs. "Sounds like she didn't", was his blunt assessment.

The Brit got her breathing under control, still snickering. "What a joke. But well, she said it herself: I can do what I want with the house."

"Turn it into a pile of rubble?", Liebgott suggested, skimming over the letter. His eyebrows made a valiant attempt to climb towards his hairline at the amount of insincere, pretentious bullshit he was reading.

"That sounds like a marvellous idea. I'll be sure to invite you all, wouldn't be half as much fun on my own." Louise spat out the grossly gooey substance she'd coughed up, kicking snow over it. "Eugh."

 **.**

Some yards down the line, Guarnere was on his way to Maxine's foxhole to give her a report on the platoon. And to have a chat, of course. As such, he was at first completely taken aback and then absolutely appalled and outraged when he found her crying.

"Max?"

She sniffled and hastily swiped a sleeve across her face. "Hey Guarnere", she managed, new tears already replacing the ones she'd wiped away.

His eyes zeroed in on the letter she held between shaking fingers. "Alright, sunshine", he demanded, dropping in next to her, "who do I gotta kill?"

A choked laugh – more of a sob, really – tumbled from her chapped lips and she assured him: "It's not like that."

"Well sorry if I ain't buying that", he declared, levelling her with a look. "What with you sittin' here all snot and tears. So, who're we gonna kill?"

The fierce protectiveness made Maxine smile. She wiped her eyes again and took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was steadier than before, closer to normal. "Bill, really, it's not how it looks. Let me explain."

Wide eyes peered at him beseechingly, holding a sort of innocent, pleading vulnerability that made his breath catch in his throat. He crossed his arms and settled back. "A'right, but this better be good. I ain't making no promises yet, you hear?"

She gave him a nod and a small smile, gathering her thoughts.

 **.**

"I told you about my family. How I'm at odds with them and that my father especially insisted I should come home before I got hurt or worse, damaged their reputation."

Bill nodded, keeping a sneer at bay. "Yeah." He didn't offer his opinion on her father since she already knew it. He'd made his feelings on the matter quite clear the first time she'd told him of her difficult relationship with her family.

"My brother and sister always stuck with me. It was us against the world. When I- when I told them that I'd signed up, they were so supportive. Worried, but supportive." The brunette sniffled and shook her head. "They wrote so many letters, always telling me how proud they were and how Father was an idiot about this whole thing. But when I wrote home to tell them that I'd gotten a field-commission to lieutenant, they… they just never wrote back."

Bill suppressed another swell of anger, remembering Maxine's betrayed and heartbroken expression when they'd talked about it one night in early November, back in Mourmelon.

"Well", Maxine continued, gesturing to the letter that now sat in her lap. "Turns out, they didn't-" She broke off, voice fraying around the edges. Clearing her throat, she tried again: "They didn't turn their backs on me. They just couldn't write back because Father wouldn't allow it."

He jerked upright, unable to contain a gasp of pure outrage. "What?!", he hollered. Oh, he was going to _murder_ that man!

She grimaced a smile. "It took them a few weeks to figure out that Father had instructed the house staff to bring all of Cassandra and Nathaniel's letters to him."

"He didn't!"

"He did. Nathaniel found out purely by chance when he went to borrow some stationery." She huffed a small laugh. "He was furious, wanted to confront Father immediately. Mother and Cassandra convinced him that feigning ignorance and sending letters to me clandestinely was the way to do it."

He frowned, not seeing the benefit of this subterfuge. "I'd have punched that bastard in the face", he said hotly, angry on his friend's behalf. How dare that man put Max, his own daughter, through such misery?!

"I know." Maxine smiled at him, that gorgeous, sincere smile that was always so infectious. Her long fingers tapped the letter, happiness and relief letting her hazel eyes shine like autumn leaves in the sun. "But I don't care about that. My brother and sister still love me and they said they were really proud of me."

Bill's scowl melted away in the face of her joy. He slung his arm around her shoulders. "I'm happy for ya", he told her. "You really needed some good fuckin' news."

"Yeah", she chuckled. "True."

"And besides", he continued, nudging her and grinning when she nudged back, "even if they did turn their backs on ya – which would make them just as stupid and blind as your old man –, we're here for you. We all love you and we're all hella proud that you got that promotion. God knows you deserved it."

She teared up again at his heartfelt declaration. "Thank you, Bill", she choked out, planting a small peck on her friend's cheek before she drew him into a hug.

"Anytime, Max." He affectionately patted her on the back, vowing to pay Mr Ignatius Lloyd a visit as soon as he got stateside to give the pompous asshole of a snob a piece of his mind. He'd show that stuffy old goat just how much his daughter – his smart, assertive, brave, loyal daughter – meant to the men and women of Easy company.


	56. Chapter 56 - The New Year Begins

***peeks around the corner* Um... hi guys. Sorry for dropping off the radar like this. As I mentioned in the last chapter, things have just been really hectic. Well, I suddenly have more free time since my social life is currently disintegrating - thank you, corona-panic - so I am hoping to get more writing done :)**

 **Anyways, how is everyone? What's the situation like where you live? Schools closed, events cancelled? Empty stores because of panicked people thinking the end is upon us? Honestly, it's all so surreal to me.**

 **But enough of that. The chapter is rather short, but I still hope you enjoy it.** **Let me know what you think of it or feel free to drop me a PM if you want to chat.**

* * *

New Year's Eve turned into New Year's Day. Frances lifted the canteen she tinkered with in a mock toast. "Here's to 1945", she said to no one in particular, sardonic humour dancing in her tone. "Let's hope things get better soon."

The Battle of the Bulge had left a few dents and scratches on her optimistic disposition and generally positive outlook on life. War wasn't pretty, she'd known that already before signing up. Her neighbour, Old Duke, had told enough stories of the Great War to his eager audience of wide-eyed kids and impressed teens for Frances to understand that it wasn't all guts and glory. It was pain and dirt and boredom and gore and about a hundred other things she couldn't even begin to describe.

But before, she'd never experienced such prolonged hopelessness. She'd never had to fight nature like this before, like it was an enemy in its own right. Each day was a struggle for survival – a battle against hunger, hypothermia, frostbite and illness. Sure, they'd marched all the way to Atlanta in the middle of winter in basic training. It had been a miserable four days, sleet and snow turning already rough paths into muddy tracks, shin splints and blisters making each step agony.

But there, they'd had a goal in front of them. They had known that it would all be over when they reached Atlanta.

In Normandy, they had waded through too many flooded fields to count. They had walked in sweltering heat with mosquitos feasting on their blood and downpours of biblical proportions where even their heavy-duty rain ponchos failed to keep them dry.

In Market Garden, they had been stuck in muddy foxholes, outmanned and outgunned on all sides, inexperienced replacements where capable, trusted friends and comrades had left gaping holes.

Now, though, there was no way to escape the snow like they'd escaped the heat of summer. No way to forage or scrounge food. No way to warm up because lighting a fire equalled signing death warrants out here – not just your own but that of your comrades as well.

Their lack of supplies had been remedied by the arrival of Patton's Third Army and the restoration of the communication with the supply dumps. But the cold remained. Greatcoats, overshoes, woollen hats and scarves and winter ODs couldn't stop the sweat they worked up while digging foxholes from syphoning their body warmth straight from their skin. Blankets couldn't cure the illnesses they'd caught from being exposed to this damned cycle of thawing and freezing.

In short, Frances' spirit was in desperate need for something more substantial than bitching and joking with her friends, making it through another day without injury or illness or not losing anyone on the latest patrol.

 **.**

"I just…" She swiped a hand through her greasy, dirt-caked hair and sighed. "I'm sick of this damn forest, ya know? It's a given that we're gonna have to push the Krauts outta Foy at some point, so why drag things out?" Not waiting for a response, she blew out another sigh and mumbled: "I'm sorry for dumping this all on you, you don't need any more shit to worry about."

Mia's lips quirked into a sad, sympathetic smile. "It's alright", she assured. "Talking about it is good."

Frances offered an indistinct grunt. "I used to love snow", she confided, staring at a streak of dirt running down her knee. "Andy and I always built snowmen with the kids from the neighbourhood." She smiled, heart aching with longing for home and her family.

Glancing over to her current fellow foxhole occupant, she asked: "Did you build snowmen too, you and your siblings?"

"Yes. But we mostly had snowball fights with the other kids. The whole street was-"

 _Crack!_

 **.**

They ducked down at the solitary gunshot ripping through the air.

"What the hell?" Frances shifted her grip on her rifle. "Was that a sniper?"

"I don't know."

They stayed low, taut as springs, peering over the lip of their hole.

"There's no patrols out. Is Louise on assignment?"

Mia shook her head. "No."

A frown pulled down Frances' brows. "So …"

"Medic!"

Mia leapt out of the foxhole. Frances couldn't do anything more than stare after her.

* * *

"Medic!", Perconte's strained voice hollered again.

Legs aching from the cold, lungs burning with each breath she took, Mia bolted through the trees. The wind bit her face, stung her cheeks. Jumping over a root that jutted out of the snow, she dodged a fallen tree.

She arrived just in time to hear Lipton question: "Hoob, where are you hit?"

"In my leg!", the wounded man gasped, writhing underneath all the hands trying to keep him still. His face was pale and twisted in pain and he was shivering. Blood stained the snow under his right leg.

In the jumble of reassurances uttered by the men crowded around him, Mia heard Hoobler hiss: "Hurts like a son of a bitch! Think I maybe hit bone."

Dropping to her knees by Lipton's side, she cast another assessing glance over her patient. "Let go, Sarge."

He obeyed without hesitation, stepping back to allow her better access to the injury. The fabric of Hoobler's blood-slick pantleg was already cut open, revealing a substantial amount of blood pouring from somewhere.

"Keep him warm", she instructed the hovering men, who kept up frantic murmurs of "You'll be alright, it's gonna be fine".

They scrambled to peel themselves out of their coats, tucking the garments around Hoobler's torso.

 **.**

"How's it looking, Doc?", Buck wanted to know, looking at her.

"How is he?", Perconte joined in, turning to the woman beside him.

Mia deftly ignored the squelching sound it made when she applied the tourniquet. "Keep talking to him", she said, shooting a glance up to Hoobler's face. "Try to breathe, okay? Stay calm."

He managed a jerky nod, clinging to Hashey and Perconte with a vice grip. "H-hey Lip", he stammered out, "you said I was a great shot?"

"You are", the First Sergeant assured him. "You're a great shot."

There was still too much blood obstructing her view. She felt her way to the entry wound. Hoobler cried out weakly, panting from the agony shooting up his leg.

"How're we doing, Doc?", Buck pressed, his voice fraught with anxiety as the men did their best to keep Hoobler conscious.

She pulled her eyes away from the hole in Hoobler's leg. "I see nothing", she told Lipton quietly, adjusting her grip when the limb jerked in her grasp. "We have to bring him to the aid station."

"Alright, let's get ready to move him", Lip addressed the others.

Hashey coached his friend: "Relax. Take it easy, Hoob."

 **.**

Tension drained from Hoobler's muscles, his feebly kicking legs going slack.

Mia's hands stilled.

"Stay there, Hoob", she heard Lipton urge.

A beat of deafening silence followed. Mia made herself look up.

Hoobler's eyes were closed, face tilted slightly towards Perconte. Bundled under the shed coats, he looked like a sleeping kid – apart from the stubble. Buck's hand rested under his chin. Mia didn't need to check for herself to know that he didn't feel a pulse. His bright eyes bored into hers, helpless and horrified.

She looked away. A ragged breath broke past her throat and she sat down in the snow.

One by one, everyone sank back in shocked, devastated silence. She distantly heard Buck tell Perconte to call a jeep. Hashey sniffled.

Her fingers slipped twice before she managed to open the knot of the tourniquet. She didn't ask what happened. The angle of the bullet wound told her all she needed to know.

She felt sick.

* * *

When Maxine heard of Hoobler's death and how it had come about, she swore for a solid minute without repeating herself. Then, she reigned in her emotions, took a deep breath and said: "I'm sorry, Lip. I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

The First Sergeant offered a consoling smile and shook his head. "It's alright, ma'am. We're all on edge."

"You could say that", she agreed tiredly. "Have you told Lt Dike yet?"

His mouth twisted in that particular way when he disapproved of something, but didn't want to say it. "No, I…uh… haven't had a chance to."

Maxine could already feel a headache building behind her eyes. She levelled him with a steady look, brow arched. "You couldn't find him." It wasn't a question because there was no doubt. Not after weeks upon weeks of the same.

"No, ma'am", Lipton admitted reluctantly. "I reported it straight to Captains Winters and Nixon instead."

Maxine nodded firmly, swallowing a growl of frustration. "Very well", she said, lifting her chin.

Her shoulders set and her spine straightened infinitesimally, hands brushing down her thighs as if she was smoothing a skirt - a lifelong habit that showed itself whenever the Washingtonian adopted what Luz had once jokingly labelled her 'high-society airs', Lipton had noticed. The picture of sophisticated grace, a cunning mind and sharp wit hidden expertly beneath polite smiles, charm and assured eloquence.

"I'll tell the CO." She smiled at him, briefly returning to her regular, more casual self. "Thanks Lip. Try not to worry about Dike too much, okay?"

He found himself smiling back, trusting her to handle their leader's absence. Maxine was nothing if not dependable and with her determination and strategy, she'd already compensated for their lack of a reliable commander multiple times.

 **.**

Maxine was well aware of how much frustration and unease their current leader – or lack thereof – caused in the company. The man's frequent disappearing acts and complete inability to make any decision whatsoever had brought her numerous headaches and many a restless night.

So far, she'd been able to prevent any major crises that could have resulted from Dike's non-existent leadership. At first, she had asked countless questions, wanting to push the man into giving proper answers, thinking for himself and explaining his rationale behind the tactics he wanted to employ.

Though when he'd continuously ignored her inquiries or brushed them aside with vague non-answers, she had soon abandoned that approach in favour of another: ask questions on only the most crucial points, wait for the end of his meandering speeches and then hash out the details with her fellow officers. Since Dike was hardly ever around to observe and because his orders were never specific or precise, they had quite a bit of leeway in that regard.

Nonetheless, she knew that she was merely delaying the inevitable for as long as she could. It was only a matter of time. And when it the storm hit… Maxine was under no illusion that the fallout would be catastrophic.

 **.**

She found Dike eventually and formally reported the death of Corporal Don Hoobler. She highly doubted that the man could put a face to that name.

"The bullet cut the main artery in his leg", she said, purposely blunt.

The lieutenant shifted, mouth twitching uneasily.

Maybe it was petty and vindictive of her, but she felt a vicious surge of satisfaction at his discomfited reaction. As she'd told Grant, she'd learned from the best when it came to expressing her honest opinion in the subtle layers of a conversation while remaining perfectly civil on the surface.

"He was wearing so many layers, by the time they managed to locate the wound, he'd already lost too much blood. He was dead before they could take him to an aid station."

The CO's mouth opened and closed a few times in a highly unflattering imitation of a fish on dry land before he eked out a response in his typical fashion – all talk no meaning.

* * *

A few minutes later, Maxine returned to the foxholes of 2nd platoon, feeling more cheerful and upbeat than she'd had in a week.

Her good mood didn't last long, sadly, as their not-so-esteemed commander decided to call a meeting with the platoon leaders and the First Sergeant. Which, to her misfortune, meant that she'd have to endure the man's skittish ineptitude and empty platitudes for the second time in the span of one day.

She sighed, swinging hazel eyes heavenwards in a silent prayer. _Lord grant me the strength not to strangle him._

"Planning a murder?"

Frances sounded far too chipper for it to be proper, Maxine noted somewhere at the back of her mind, even as her lips tilted to match her friend's mischievous grin. "Why, Frances", she replied with put-upon loftiness, sniffing delicately. "I would never entertain such dissident thought."

She dug a battered and fairly old pack of smokes from her coat and plucked out a cigarette with cold-tinged fingers. The North Carolinian snickered as it was common knowledge that the Washingtonian rarely smoked and usually only did it in times of immense aggravation.

"No, but seriously", Maxine continued, expression clouding. "I might not be fond of the man, but he _is_ our superior. Insubordination will only bring us more trouble."

Message received, Frances dipped her head in deference. "You're right, Max." She sighed. "It's just frustrating."

A snort emanated from her right, accompanied by the snick of a lighter. "I know. I'm also sick of losing people."

 **.**

Frances nodded solemnly. As tragic as it was, Hoobler's death was just one on a list which grew longer each day. Their company consisted of the dead, wounded and ill… and the remained could be summarised under the labels 'exhausted' and 'tense'. And 'freezing'. Despite the winter clothing, having little shelter from the weather, which had once again turned towards snow and light fog, meant that they were all constantly cold.

She tapped her hand against her knee and asked, in a rare moment of overt, rash doubt: "How are we supposed to make the attack on Foy with Dike leading us?"

Maxine's lips pressed together, elegant brows puckering. A heavy sigh escaped her, smoke curling as it clashed with the cold air. "We have capable leaders", she offered calmly, "and outstanding NCOs, all experienced in battle."

Frances heard the note of admonishment in the other woman's voice and ducked her head. "I'm sorry."

"You're worried and frustrated", Maxine acknowledged with a shrug. "You don't have to apologise." She paused. "You know, you'd make a good sergeant."

Frances smiled. "I think I'll pass. I'm not too big on giving orders."

Soft laughter danced in Maxine's tone as she agreed.


	57. Chapter 57 - Frustrations

**Gosh, I can't believe it's already been three weeks since I last got around to posting a chapter! Well, it certainly has been an eventful time. I have to work from home, which is more tedious than it is convenient, and being stuck at home with my family pretty much day in, day out is not what I call having a good time.**

 **And now I can't even go outside for a walk because I somehow managed to catch the virus, meaning I'm officially in quarantine. So now it's 10 days of not leaving the house at all for my entire family. Yay. I can already see the drama approaching.**

 **Anyways, I should stop bothering you with my self-pity and whining and let you get on with the story :)**

* * *

Every once in a while, Maxine felt a surge of gratitude for her prestigious upbringing. It had given her the invaluable skill of enduring inane prattle, filtering out the important bits and letting the rest roll off her like water on a duck's back. Still, despite her talent, the sheer pointlessness of Lt Norman Dike as a whole was slowly driving her to despair.

"And I want tight security around the company, Lt Shames", the man in question said, frowning at the beleaguered platoon leader. "Is that understood?"

Shames looked like he had a hard time containing the urge to either shrug or roll his eyes. Possibly both. "Alright."

The CO didn't seem to notice, instead continuing: "Now, Battalion S3 is planning a move, so I will probably be called away regularly."

 _As opposed to just gallivanting off to heaven knows where?_ _My, what a difference that would make._ Maxine was sorely tempted to giggle, but clamped down on the sarcasm bubbling inside her.

"Any questions?"

Oblivious as he was, Dike didn't realise that every single person present stared at him in that particularly dumbfounded and vaguely desperate way that just begged 'Please tell me you're joking'.

"Uh, yeah", Buck spoke up, tone dripping with incredulity. "What's the formation you want us to go for?"

If Maxine had been one to bet, she would have wagered an entire year's pay that Dike had no idea whatsoever.

He blinked, brain obviously stalling for a moment as he was caught by surprise. "At present, as per usual, but I'll clarify that with you at a later time, Lieutenant Compton", he then replied and Maxine had to applaud them all for their restraint because good God, how could anyone think this man was suited for command? _And why the fuck is he always yawning?!_

"Alright, I gotta make a call." With that abrupt announcement, Dike ended the meeting and strode past Lipton.

Maxine traded a look with Foley and sneezed. "So much for that."

He just offered a micro-shrug, lips pressing together. They were all thinking the same.

Sighing and sneezing again, she tucked her hands under her armpits and blinked snowflakes from her lashes.

 **.**

They split up after a few yards, everyone heading for where they needed to be. Their platoon's foxholes, OPs, the CP. Maxine started making her way towards 2nd platoon, wanting to speak to Louise, when she heard Buck calling her name.

"Lloyd."

She turned and waited for him to catch up to her. "What is it, sir?"

He looked tense, anxious in a way she would never associate with the charismatic, boisterous man she'd first met in Aldbourne last year. "Can you believe that man?", he asked, fretful urgency flittering in his tone. "We need a leader, not an empty uniform. He should be here, strategizing, planning, reassuring, not feeding us bullshit about being needed at battalion and having to make a call."

Something fizzy and unpleasant bubbled in Maxine's stomach. "I know", she agreed with a heavy sigh. "I keep thinking about it myself. It's only a matter of time before we'll be sent to claim Foy and we'll need a water-tight plan."

"The veterans are worried. There's a lot of rumblings in the company, they're on edge."

She nodded, shivering as another gust of wind bit her cheeks. "They're smart and no amount of verbal diarrhoea can fool them", she said, quietly proud of them. "They know what a good leader is supposed to be like and they know Dike does not fit the criteria."

"It's gonna be a disaster." Buck's shoulders slumped as he raked a hand through his light curls.

Maxine's stomach tightened and she forced herself to swallow her own fears and doubts. "Not necessarily."

He frowned at her, lifting a questioning eyebrow and crossing his arms.

 **.**

Having expected this display of disbelief, she continued: "Think about it. Easy is full of good, experienced soldiers. Each squad has at least a couple of Toccoa guys, the NCOs are all seasoned veterans."

"Doesn't help much if the CO's a useless puppet."

"Buck", Maxine said, balancing confidence, soothing and just a hint of concern in her voice. "We've managed without a proper CO before."

He countered: "Because we had Dick."

The brunette conceded the point but maintained her argument. "Yeah, at first. But look at all the replacement lieutenants we had in Holland. We made it through that, too, and some of those were nearly as useless as Dike, if we're being honest."

"Back then we had a good XO", Buck pointed out. He seemed determined to remain unnervingly pessimistic – almost defeatist.

Maxine immediately banished that thought because that would mean opening a can of worms she wasn't quite ready to deal with just yet. First, she needed to fix this apparent crisis of confidence he seemed to have. "Granted, we've lost Welsh for the time being", she allowed, "but my point still stands. We're not alone in this, Buck. We can count on our guys."

His features displayed his conflict, but she could see her words finally taking effect. "We won't have enough people left if they keep doing stupid things", he remarked, frustration now rising to become the primary emotion. "Welsh, Hoobler, Catherine…" He trailed off before suddenly fixing her with an intense look. "Don't you go doing anything stupid, you hear?", he said, tone steely and tense. "We need you."

Puzzled surprise and a sinking feeling of worry joined the hissing mixture of unease in the pit of her stomach. Maxine plastered a soft smile onto her face. "You know me, Buck."

The intensity of his gaze didn't let up. "Promise me", he pushed. "No stupid stunts."

"No stupid stunts", she echoed solemnly.

His chin jerked in a firm nod, as if warning her to break her promise. She nodded back, more subconscious reflex than anything else.

* * *

The frustration over their situation, particularly their lack of competent senior leadership, was everywhere. Maxine would have had to be blind and deaf to miss the eyerolls and annoyed frowns, the grumbles and disgusted mutters. She couldn't remember how many times she'd had to bite her tongue so she didn't voice her agreement.

In the privacy of her own mind, she could admit that she was terrified. Terrified of going into Foy with a man that was about as suited for the battlefield as a snowball in the desert. Terrified of one man's indecision costing the lives of her comrades.

And yet, on the outside, Maxine couldn't let it show. She had faith in her friends, in the Toccoa guys, her fellow platoon leaders. So that's what she held on to, what she used to soothe the rumbles and whispers.

 **.**

Melancholy washed over her as she trudged towards the foxholes of her platoon. She missed Catherine. The Hawaiian's warm, motherly presence had always worked wonders whenever the company had been uneasy and restless. A few kind, patient bits of advice, words of reassurance that seemed to come so easily to the ranking medic, and people's smiles grew deeper, their stances relaxed and worries eased.

She saw a small group clustered around a foxhole. Luz was easy to identify by his gestures, hands in motion as he talked. Babe's red hear was equally hard to miss, shining like a beacon in this world of dulled greys and browns. Next to Babe was Johnny, the barbed snarky undertone of his voice unmistakable as he fired a retort to whatever Luz had just said. The resulting muted laughter revealed the last person to be Grant, his chuckles as warm as his friendly blue eyes.

"Hi boys", Maxine greeted them, working a smile onto her lips. "What's new?"

Luz gave her an innocent grin. "Oh you know, the usual. Shooting the breeze, betting on who's gonna replace Dike…"

She let out a sigh, the stream of air displacing a flurry of snowflakes in front of her face. Folding her long legs underneath her, she crouched down beside Johnny. "I know you're frustrated", she acknowledged, choosing her words. "Trust me, I understand."

"Yeah, you would", Chuck commented with a dry huff. "You're a saint, Max."

A brief smile flickered over her lips before she turned serious again. "You can't let anyone hear you speak like this", she urged, looking at them, searching for the flash of understanding in their expressions. "The last thing I- we need is a mutiny."

Luz shrugged, just a little too dismissive, and said: "It worked last time."

"Last time", Maxine rebutted tiredly, rubbing her forehead, "we weren't in the middle of a siege. Guys, please, we've had over a dozen different COs since Holland and we're still here. We made it under Sobel, we'll make it under Dike."

Johnny's jaw worked and there were lines of tension around his ice-shard eyes. "You expect us to believe that?", he questioned.

"Have I ever lied to you?"

He shook his head, as did Babe and Luz.

 **.**

"No," Grant spoke up, "but all due respect, Maxine, you're a diplomat. You don't need to lie. You know exactly how to deal in half-truths and pretty words to hide the real state of things."

She smiled, not bothering to deny it and not the least bit offended. "You're right, Chuck. But telling you how far we're up shit's creek isn't going to help our situation. And the way I see it, it's not your job to worry about Dike. It's mine."

"Why, 'cause we'd get creative?", Johnny sniped, a wicked grin tucked into the corners of his frowning mouth that was almost Liebgott-esque.

"Careful, sergeant", she warned, her tone teasing and hazel eyes dancing. "No, because you are busy enough running your squads. It's my responsibility to talk tactics and figure out this mess."

With a squeeze of Johnny's shoulder, Maxine straightened, not even blinking at the loud pop her left knee gave. "Now take care boys, and no more bets on Dike, Luz."

"You got it, Lady Lloyd", he grinned.

Chuckling, she left them to their devices, finally going to seek out Louise. Battalion planned to send the sniper on a reconnaissance mission in the next few days, so Maxine wanted her to be prepared. And she also wanted to talk to her friend for a little, longing for a passionate and stimulating conversation like they've had many in the past.

* * *

After the odd, stilted exchange with Lieutenant Dike, Lipton sat in his foxhole pondering the mystery of how somebody could look at a bureaucrat and rule-book enthusiast like Norman Dike and see the ideal leader of an elite combat unit that had been in two major operations. So far, the answer continued to elude him.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the soft shuffle of paratrooper boots in the snow. "Lip?"

He looked up and offered a smile to the young squad leader, who looked worn and in desperate need of sleep.

"Mind if I stay for a while?", she asked, shifting from one foot to the other, hands buried deep in the pockets of her greatcoat.

"Sure."

Theresa dropped in beside him with a low groan that expressed the exhausted, miserably frustrated sentiment they all felt. "Thanks", she sighed. "I foisted my newbies off onto Pace and Cobb. They're alright, but I really needed a break."

Lip chuckled. "Too green?", he asked.

"I don't have the patience to deal with them right now", the brunette admitted freely. "I haven't slept in a day and I'm pretty sure I caught the same bug as everybody else."

A frown tugged at his brows and he studied her more closely. She was pale and even in the greyish light of dusk, there was a slight glaze to her eyes. "You're sick?", he asked.

"I'm sure it's just a cold, thanks to the lovely weather" – he couldn't help but feel a flash of amusement at her dry wit – "but yeah, my head feels like it's stuffed with cotton."

"Have you told the Docs?"

Her eyebrows arched slightly and she slanted him a look. "I got a shot of penicillin and an aspirin." She shrugged her shoulders. "But it's not like they can do much about it. Everyone's sick."

 **.**

Snowflakes flurried from the darkening skies. Theresa lazily watched them drift on the wind, spinning and tumbling like tiny dancers and circus artists. Her eyelids grew heavier. The snow began to blur, flakes coalescing into whirls and wisps, think streaks of white.

She took a breath and heard herself ask: "Do you miss home, Lip?"

He treated her to a sad quirk of his mouth, too small to be called a smile. "I try not to think about it", he said, repeating what he'd told Lt Dike earlier. "And you?"

Tilting her head in a yes and no fashion, the Nebraskan rubbed her gritty, tired eyes. "I miss my family. And Nana's piano."

Her fingers twitched, itching with phantom pins and needles. It had been months since she'd had the chance to play. Some pubs in Aldbourne had had a piano and she'd always seized the opportunity to tinkle a tune or five.

Lipton hummed a thoughtful "You play well."

"Thank you. Nana taught me when I was a kid." Sadness mixed with her wistfulness. "You know, that's how I met Thomas."

It took Lip a moment to remember who 'Thomas' was before it came to him. "Your…", he began, trailing off when he didn't quite know how to put it.

Theresa nodded. "My ex-fiancé." She pulled up her knees, burrowing deeper into her coat as if trying to shield herself from the hurt his sudden decision to end their relationship had caused her, even if it was already two years in the past.

"We played together. Duetts, four hands. We were really good." A chipped smile crossed her features and she sighed. "But that doesn't matter now."

 **.**

Their conversation continued in soft waves, each sharing memories and stories from home. Lip talked about some of the interesting guests his family's boarding house had seen. Theresa told him how her mother had taught her brother to knit since he'd been ill so much as a child.

As they talked, Theresa felt her head growing heavier and at some point, between one blink and the next, she found herself leaning against Lipton.

"Get some sleep, Reese", he said, voice quiet and warm.

She mumbled an indistinct reply, already half asleep.

Lipton didn't protest as she settled against his side, eyes slipping closed within seconds, breathing levelling out mere moments later. He pulled up the blanket that had been bunched up by his feet. He moved carefully as he covered them both with it, hoping that it wouldn't disturb the sleep Theresa so clearly needed.

His worry proved to be unfounded. All he got was a small sound of discontentment, followed by the brunette burying her face deeper into his shoulder. His lips pursed, caught midway between smile and frown. It was so easy to forget that Theresa was the second youngest of the women and only a little more than a month older than the youngest. Technically, she wasn't even allowed to drink yet.

Lip rubbed his forehead and tried not to think about it. He sent a prayer to the dark skies, closed his burning eyes and let Morpheus sweep him away into restful oblivion.


	58. Chapter 58 - Stories for Newbies

**Shout-out to kingmanaena for urging me to update! I had absolutely no idea that it has already been another three weeks... work has been stupidly hectic and I even ended up working most of Easter (despite my superior reassuring me the same day "Oh these past few years, we've never had any jobs come in for over the Easter weekend". Mhm, right... that's why I worked three out of those four days).**

 **This chapter is a bit short, but I couldn't find a better place to stop before it got too long. I have written ahead a little more and am currently trying to build up the courage to tackle the events of January 9 and then progress to Foy and beyond. Some scenes are already sketched/written, but currently, the transition scenes are being a real pain in my neck.**

 **As always, ideas and suggestions are welcome, as is feedback and constructive criticism. I'm super excited that you enjoy my story and writing, so feel free to let me know what I should improve on.**

* * *

January 3 began with surprising news for First platoon. Lt Peacock was being sent home. Division had issued a 30-day furlough to one officer from each company that had taken part in the 'heroic defence' of Bastogne. They would be shipped home to drum up enthusiasm for the war bond drive. Rumour had it that initially, Captain Nixon had been the one chosen by the divisional leaders, but had turned it down on the grounds of "I've already seen the States, I grew up there".

So Captain Winters had selected Lieutenant Peacock to go in his stead.

First Platoon was delighted. As nice and dedicated as Peacock was, he wasn't exactly leadership material. Fidgety and unsure, he either struggled to make a crucial decision or had trouble with as simple tasks as holding a map the right way round.

 **.**

Theresa had to bite down hard on the inside of her lip to stop herself from laughing. The guys were taking the words "double entendre" to a whole new level when they congratulated Peacock on his luck and bid him farewell.

"Really glad you're going home", Luz said with a smile. For all intents and purposes, he was in fact telling the truth.

Peacock beamed, genuinely touched by how happy they were for him.

"Best news I've heard in weeks", Christenson added, grinning widely as he shook the man's hand. "Hell of a guy."

Stepping forward to say goodbye to her platoon leader as well, Theresa shook hands with Peacock. "Congratulations, lieutenant. It'll be quite different around here without you." She hid a smirk when Perconte made a choked noise behind her.

Peacock remained blissfully unaware of the joke. He smiled brightly at her and professed: "Aw thank you, this means a lot, you know?"

 **.**

After the lieutenant had left, the rumbling of the jeep fading into the distance, the assembled soldiers looked at each other and broke down into helpless laughter.

"We're horrible", Theresa managed between swells of laughs pushing up from her chest. "Bless him, he didn't have a clue." She turned to Christenson and tried to summon a disapproving glare despite knowing that she'd fail spectacularly. "Best news I've heard all week?", she quoted, dissolving into another burst of giggles.

Bull guffawed and clapped her on the shoulder. "Well, you ain't been much better, Reese, telling him it was gonna be different without him."

She shrugged, wiping tears of hilarity from her eyes. "It wasn't a lie", she defended, which sent them into another round of hoots and cackles.

* * *

The pale fog of noon saw a good dozen of them clustered around the small clearing where Joe Domingus had set up shop. Purple-lipped and shivering, Louise plonked herself into a free spot next to Liebgott, grumbling about the indescribably pointless exercise that had been her last recon mission. "All I got out of this shit is another pair of wet socks."

He just snickered, earning himself a shove and a tired, grey-eyed glare.

The return of one of their own caused a small commotion by the food line. Joe Toye had left the aid station after having been hit in the arm by flying shrapnel on New Year's Eve. "Joe Toye, back for more!", Muck crowed as they welcomed him back.

Spotting Mia lingering at the outskirts of the little group, Toye caught her questioning look and gave her a reassuring nod. He was fine. Relief lit up her face and she came over to say hello as well.

"It's good you're back", she said, patting his elbow and smiling when he flicked an overlong strand of her duck fluff hair from her eyes. Accepting her cup of the 'gruel de jour', as Ana María had labelled their food, Mia drifted away with another feather-light touch of her hand against Toye's arm.

 **.**

A replacement asked: "Where'd you get hit?"

Toye turned, raising his eyebrows and looking the kid up and down. "What's this?"

"Ah that's Webb", Skip supplied easily. "Replacement."

"Really? Thought it was some guy I've known for two years and I forgot his face", he dead-panned, making the veterans chuckle.

Penkala took pity on the replacement, who looked out of place amidst the seasoned soldiers. "Joe got hit in the arm. New Year's Eve gift from the Luftwaffe."

With a mighty impressed expression on his face, Webb wanted to know if a lot of them had been injured.

"It's called _wounded_ , peanut", Johnny explained in the tone of an exasperated high school teacher. " _Injured_ is when you fall out of a tree or something."

Grinning crookedly and trading a mischievous glance with his buddies, Skip assured the new guy: "Don't worry, there's enough crap flying around here, you're bound to get dinked some time."

Sweeping his hand in an encompassing gesture at the men and women scattered across the various logs and tree stumps in the clearing, he added: "Almost every single one of these guys has been hit at least once." He paused briefly. "Except for Alley, he's a two-time. He landed on broken glass in Normandy and got peppered by a potato masher in Holland."

 **.**

Chuckles and teasing jabs served as the backdrop for Skip's cheerful showboating as he detailed for Webb's benefit the many and varied injuries they had sustained over the course of the war.

"Now Liebgott, that skinny little guy? He got pinged in the neck in Holland."

The man in question quirked his lips into a smirk and continued eating.

Skip pointed at the blonde sitting next to Liebgott, making her arch a brow. "Louise got some shrapnel in the shoulder in Normandy. Taught us all a bunch of new swears, that one."

She shrugged unapologetically, smile tugging at the corner of her mouth even as she flipped him off with a rude gesture.

Skip laughed, unperturbed, and continued: "And right next to them, that other skinny little guy, that's Popeye. He got shot in his scrawny little butt in Holland."

Webb already felt his head starting to spin with all the names and stories he was hearing. He had only been with the company for a scant few days and for them to talk so casually about what must have been painful injuries… it was quite the reality check, to say the least.

"And uh, Buck got shot in his rather large butt in Holland", Malarkey chimed in, motioning towards the tow-headed lieutenant. Buck took it in stride, turning, lifting the lapels of his coat and putting a finger right on one of the entry wounds.

Penkala snorted drily. "Yeah, kind of an Easy company tradition, being shot in the ass."

 **.**

Muck spoke up again, gesturing with his spoon. "Hey, even First Sergeant Lipton over there. He got a couple pieces of a tank shell burst in Carentan. One chunk in the face, another chunk almost took out his nuts."

Indulgent as ever, Lip just shook his head, a fond smile on his face as he busied himself with his food. Guarnere sidled up to him, an angelic look on his face that didn't fool him in the slightest, and asked: "How are those nuts, Sarge?"

"Doing fine Bill", he responded evenly, "nice of you to ask."

Over the ensuing laughter, Luz piped up: "Now fellas, let's not forget our Lieutenant Lloyd over there!" – He pointed towards her, eyes glinting with fond teasing – "She got herself almost blown up in Carentan when she was a squad sergeant."

He winked at her. "Got your bell rung pretty good, ain't that right, Max?"

The tall, pretty woman gave a good-natured shrug from where she sat and said with a laugh: "My ears were ringing so much, I couldn't see even see straight."

Malarkey leaned over and commented in a conspiratorial stage-whisper: "And she still walked out of the aid station two hours later when orders to move out came."

Webb was beginning to wonder if sneaking away from the aid station was also a company tradition.

* * *

In the afternoon, Easy moved back to their old position, relieving the elements of 1st Battalion that had held that particular stretch of the line while they had been sent to clear various sectors of the Bois Jacques. A handful of men, however, were staying behind, temporarily attached to D Company. The rest of Easy, of course, didn't pass up the opportunity to take the mickey out of them as they trailed past their foxhole.

"Good luck, ladies", Guarnere offered with a shit-eating grin.

Toye left it at an ominous "Been nice knowing you."

Nodding to Perconte and trading a look with Christenson, Ana María advised them not to drink too much, giggling as her fellow radio operator shot back: "If you're hiding hooch up those big-ass sleeves of yours, I'm gonna shoot you."

"Hey", Malarkey added, "be careful if he offers you a cigarette."

Webb bemusedly looked back and forth between them. "What are they talking about? If who offers us a cigarette?"

"Speirs", Christenson explained absently, scraping dirt off the sights of his machine gun.

It did little to clear the replacement's confusion. "Who?"

"Lieutenant Speirs", Louise supplied, pale eyes roving over their equally pale, fog-shrouded surroundings. "He's a platoon leader in Dog Company."

"The stories are probably mostly bullshit anyway", Christenson said, drawing a doubtful scoff from Perconte, who was busy squeezing tooth paste onto his tooth brush.

Curiosity quickly flickered into unease as Webb wanted to know what stories they meant.

Rolling his eyes, Perconte said: "Well, supposedly, Speirs shot one of his own men for being drunk."

Webb's jaw dropped. "You're kidding! That's unbelievable!"

"Yeah and there's another one about him giving cigarettes to 20 German POWs before killing them", Christenson added, turning his back to them so he could affix the machine gun to its tripod.

"He shot 20 POWs?", Webb repeated, aghast.

Perconte shook his head. "Well actually, I heard it was more like 30."

Sparing them a glance, Louise huffed out a breath, but kept silent as she spotted the man in question heading towards them.

 **.**

"Christenson."

Louise schooled her features into neutrality, hurriedly smothering the grin threatening to break out at the sudden nervousness spreading on Perconte's features.

"Lieutenant Speirs", Christenson acknowledged, turning back to look at him.

The infamous officer crouched down at the lip of their hole, gun easily resting across his thighs. "I got the name right, didn't I?", he checked, sharp eyes focused on him. "Christenson?"

"Yes sir."

The intense gaze travelled over them, settling on Louise. "What are you men doing out here?"

The sniper met his eyes calmly as she replied: "Watching the line, sir." She noticed the slight tightening of his bottom lip at the sound of her voice and was inclined to agree. She still sounded horrible, hoarse like a strangled rooster.

Speirs swept a cursory look over the line and nodded his assent. "Keep up the good work", he said, tacking on: "While you're at it, you might wanna reinforce your cover."

Since apparently the men had tacitly decided to let Louise handle the talking, she explained how Lt Dike had told them not to bother as they'd only be there one day. While her expression remained unchanged, her tone made it plain what she thought of that.

"Lieutenant Dike said that, hm?"

Perconte nodded mutely around his tooth brush.

Speirs tilted his head. "Well, then forget what I said. Carry on. Fields, your presence is requested at the CP."

"Yes sir." Louise climbed out of the foxhole, giving Christenson a pat on the shoulder.

 **.**

Speirs got up, his movements a vaguely unsettling combination of swift and idle, and turned to leave. After a few steps, he stopped and turned back. "Oh, anyone care for a smoke?"

Louise fought back a laugh. He was definitely messing with them now, adding fuel to the fire with a blank face.

"I'll take one", she said, trying not to grin.

A brief glance behind her confirmed her expectation of her friends' reactions. Christenson looked tense but respectful, Perconte startled and like he'd just choked on his tooth brush and Webb seemed too busy picking his jaw off the floor to do anything else.

They left towards the CP, Louise digging out her zippo from the depths of her pockets to light their smokes, first Speirs', then her own. "You know, sir", she began leisurely as they walked, "you're a devious man."

That earned her a raised eyebrow. "Really?", Speirs asked, his voice not giving anything away.

"Well, if anything, you've got one sure-fire way to make sure you never have to share your smokes."

He shot her an amused look, but didn't respond verbally. Louise didn't mind. Silence had never bothered her.


End file.
